


Through Mist, Veil, and Summer

by IraCreasman



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Reality, Anxiety, Bullies, Coming of Age, Depression, F/F, Fantasy, Fog, Pirate Castle, Portal Fantasy, Sky Pirate, Summer, Truename Spyglass, Walking Cottage, Witch of Money, Witch of Puppets, Young romance, another world - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25090858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IraCreasman/pseuds/IraCreasman
Summary: Anna Lawrence is a quiet girl who'd rather sit and write poetry than bustle about with her peers. After an incident resulting in a panic attack and a trip to the hospital, Anna's foster mother sends her to stay with her aunt and uncle for the summer.Upon arriving in the small mountain town of Glenwood, Anna finds herself caught in the machinations of another world on the other side of the fog: warring witches, animal-headed skypirates, and the boldest, bravest, most interesting girl Anna has ever met.
Kudos: 3





	1. Inciting Breath

**Author's Note:**

> THROUGH MIST, VEIL, AND SUMMER is my homage to Studio Ghibli films. It's a fantasy romance with a dash of adventure and self-contemplation that moves a little slower, a little quieter. It is my fourth novel, written between October 1, 2017 and January 6, 2019, and is complete at 17 chapters and 80k words. Updates will come on the 1st Saturday of the month until the full story is published.

Anna sat on a bench, by herself, notepad on her knees. She liked the historical museum of art, her favorite of the yearly school field trips. It was neither boisterous nor loud. It required neither active participation nor sturdy shoes. It allowed her to sit on a bench and look at a painting of sunflowers and think about how she might capture that feeling in words.

She scribbled a few down, crossed out one or two. Scribbled a few more.

The group she was supposed to be with had moved on some time ago, but she'd pretended not to notice. The giggling and shoving and carrying on of typical freshmen made her shoulders tense.

The quiet murmur of an appreciative museum crowd ebbed and flowed, swaying her attention this way and that. She studied the brushstrokes on the sunflower petals. Yellow and gold and hints of orange. Long, sure strokes. Carefully layered, then layered again. She scribbled a few more words, crossed off one and wrote another.

"Ms. Lawrence. There you are."

The voice rang across the quiet room like a power chord in a deep forest. Anna jerked to, hunched her shoulders, and looked around for Mr. Scott. She'd known she couldn't get away with straying from the group for long.

Mr. Scott strode toward her, shoes click-click-clicking on the floor, shirt collar crisp, expression quietly disappointed.

"You know, I thought if I was very careful, I could keep you with the group this time. I suppose you're just too clever for me, Ms. Lawrence." He didn't say it like it was a compliment; he said it like she should be ashamed of herself, or he should be.

"What are you working on?" he asked.

She blinked up at him. Mr. Scott had been her homeroom teacher all semester. He'd never asked her what she was working on. He'd caught her writing poetry in class before, but only asked her to put the notebook away.

"It doesn't matter," she said. She closed her notebook, tucked it in her shoulderbag, and stood.

Mr. Scott gave her an inscrutable look. She was afraid he would ask again, afraid he would demand to see it, that he would dismiss her scrabbling at poetry as uninteresting or unworthy. Worse, he might show interest. She didn't think she could tell him what she was writing and why without her throat closing from embarrassment.

Mr. Scott gave a disappointed sigh and gestured. "We're this way, come along." His hard-soled shoes clicked on the museum floor in the otherwise empty room. Anna bit her tongue and followed meekly, trying not to let her thoughts get away from her.

_He's disappointed in you again. You should have known better. Trying to take time for poetry when you should be paying attention. Selfish._

The room they entered held an exhibit she hadn't seen before. It hung from the ceiling in waves and drapes, hoops and fabric, like an undulating, deep-sea creature in the dimly lit room. Lights slowly faded along the length of the exhibit like beings floating through a tunnel, quiet movement in inky depths, neurons firing in a quiet mind. For all that she'd have preferred to stay on her quiet bench in her quiet room with her golden sunflowers, Anna appreciated this exhibit.

She stood at the back of the crowd while the tour guide explained. Rather than listen, she watched the lights in their cloth tunnel. She breathed slowly, imagining she stood upon the ocean floor, quiet and alone. She clasped her hands behind her back.

She was enjoying herself when it started.

"Look at that. She's not lost after all."

It was Robert. She'd known Robert since they were six. When they were kids, he'd been fine. Almost a friend. He'd always been loud, outgoing, charismatic some might say. But lately he'd turned snide. Anna wanted nothing to do with that. He didn't seem to take time to think before speaking or acting or anything else, and Anna wanted even less to do with that.

"Have you ever even heard her speak?"

That was Becky. She was new to the area a few years ago. Anna had never gotten on with her. Becky always seemed convinced of her own impressiveness.

"Oh sure. Quiet as a mouse these days though," said Robert.

"I'll bet we could make the little mouse squeak."

The third was Jillian. Jilly she'd used to be called, but now it was Jillian. Anna and Jilly had played together at recess once upon a time, pretending to be adventurers, explorers, and scientists. Now she snickered with the others, teasing from afar.

Anna bit her tongue and steadfastly refused to acknowledge them. To acknowledge them was to give them power, and Anna wasn't prepared to give that up today. They whispered for several moments, acting like they didn't know she could hear them. Anna took a few steps forward, trying to lose herself in the crowd without shouldering her way past anybody. She didn't make any progress.

The first caught her low on the back, a faint thump. She didn't know what it was and it hadn't hurt, so she ignored it. The next struck her left ear. It stung and she flinched. Looking down, she found a pink eraser, plucked from the end of a pencil, rolling in a tight circle on the floor.

"Got her," said Jillian.

"Didn't make her squeak though," said Robert.

"I brought lots of pencils," said Becky.

The next struck her shoulder, her back again, her cheek right next to her eye, but Anna refused to flinch. She kept a stoic face, hands behind her back, refusing to react lest they thought they'd won. Their aim got better. Her neck, her ears, her cheeks. Anna held herself by either wrist, tightly, behind her back. A barrage of stings fell upon her, but if she imagined them little more than cold rain, or drifting snow, or a bit of wind, they ceased to bother her.

"What a freak," said Robert.

"No wonder she doesn't have any friends," said Jillian

"Maybe if she made an effort," said Becky. "She doesn't have to keep her hair that short."

"Or dye it red."

"Or dress like a boy."

The tour guide finished his chipper spiel and the class moved on.

Anna bit her tongue harder, grasped her wrists tighter, and tried to take a deep breath, but her chest clenched.

_Not now. Not while they're watching. They'll call Violet._

The class walked to the next exhibit. Anna followed without paying attention. She could only hear their whispers, the scuff of their shoes, the snide of their snickers. She wondered if they would stick with pencil erasers. Anna looked around for Mr. Scott, or any of the teachers. She knew if she were close to a teacher, the three fiends weren't brave enough to hassle her. But every teacher she could find was on the other side of the room.

Something bigger, heavier, struck between her shoulders and Anna staggered from the surprise of it, unclasping her hands to correct her balance. She turned and found the three of them: Robert, Jillian, and Becky, looking innocently at a painting of a bridge over waterlilies. She looked at the floor. It was another eraser, a thick, pink rhombus. She bent and picked it up, turning it over in her fingers and considering. She wanted to retaliate, she wanted to scream at them, to ask them if they knew how miserable they were.

Instead she pocketed it.

 _Don't be so dramatic,_ she scolded herself.

She replaced her hands behind her back and took a slow, shallow breath, feeling the weight of her shoulderbag. Her shoulders tensed, squealing at the movement. A tickle at her throat threatened to make her cough. She clenched her jaw and sniffled surreptitiously, forbidding herself to cry.

_Calm down. You're being stupid. If you let them get to you, if you start coughing..._

Maybe if she showed Mr. Scott the eraser... but no. She hadn't had success talking to authority figures about her harassers. They talked to her about tools for dealing with bullies, they talked to her about handling her own problems, they talked to her about growing a thicker skin. And they were right.

_You're too quiet, too unfriendly, too weak._

"She could be pretty. It wouldn't be that hard," said Becky, her stage whisper carrying to Anna and those few nearby. Some turned to look. Some snickered. Nobody intervened.

"Or if she'd smile," said Robert. "We used to be friends, you know."

Anna cleared her throat. She felt like she was lying at the bottom of the ocean, but the wonder of the previous exhibit was replaced by pressure on all sides, chest straining to breathe, ears filling, eyes stinging. She clenched her jaw as hard as she could, gripped her wrists and refused to acknowledge it.

"Maybe that's why nobody likes her."

Anna's ears roared. She held her breath; she closed her eyes; she shut it out. She didn't want to know any more of what they thought of her. She just wanted it to stop. She wanted to sit by herself with her notepad and her thoughts. When her chest couldn't take it anymore, she unclenched her jaw and her body forced a shuddering breath. She coughed.

"There it is," said Becky, her voice the only thing Anna could hear. "I knew we could make her squeak."

The second breath was harder, a high-pitched gasp, like breathing through a straw. She coughed again.

And on the third she couldn't breathe at all.

Mr. Scott called an ambulance. Paramedics in white shirts knelt next to her telling her be still, to breathe evenly, that everything would be fine. She tried to tell them it was just an asthma attack, she'd had them before, she was fine now, she had her inhaler. Someone said her pupils were dilated, her heartrate frantic. She tried to explain that, for her, this was normal. But they put her on a stretcher, wheeled her from the museum, and into the back of an ambulance. Worse, they called Violet.

Lying on a hospital bed, in a stiff, scratchy gown, Anna couldn't still her thoughts.

_Ugly. Stupid. Unfriendly. You can't even stand up for yourself._

* * *

"She'll be fine."

"But this is her third hospital visit since winter."

Anna didn't know if she'd fallen asleep. It was dark outside. She was alone in the room but for the faint hum of hospital machinery. She could hear Dr. Pertwee and Violet speaking quietly on the other side of the door.

"Mrs. Lawrence, Vivianna has bruises on her wrists."

Anna held up her arms and looked at her writs. Four crescent bruises stood upon each, from where she'd clasped them behind her back, where her fingernails had dug in.

"I don't understand. Did she hurt herself falling?"

"No. They're self-inflicted. Do you know if she's under more stress than usual?"

Anna dropped her hands to her chest. _Perfect. Well done, Anna. Now they'll want answers._

"I... I don't think so. But... but she hasn't been talking to me much lately."

"Her blood pressure is also higher than I'd like. That makes me think her recent episodes are the result of more than just asthma. Now, she's young, and young people are remarkably resilient. But they're also prone to emotional swings. Under a lot of stress these days."

"What do I do?"

"Like we talked about before, I suggest a change of scenery. Get her out of town. For the summer, if you can. Somewhere away from the city pollution, away from whatever might be causing her anxiety."

Later, the lights in the room brightened slowly. Anna closed her eyes. She could feel Violet standing at her bedside, looking down at her, deciding what to do.

"I'm sorry I made you come to the hospital again. I know you don't like it here," Anna said.

Violet gave a little gasp. "I didn't realize you were awake. Did... did you hear Doctor Pertwee and me?"

Anna opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. It was easier not to cry if she didn't look at Violet. "Are you going to send me away?"

"Would you like that? Doctor Pertwee thinks it would do you good."

"What about school?"

"He thinks it would be worth it to miss the last two weeks. Besides you've got good grades, right?"

_She's getting rid of you._

"Would you come with me?"

"I... I'm sorry Anna. I have to work. You know that. But my sister lives in Glenwood, it's a little town in the mountains. There's a hot springs and a quiet library and a—"

"It sounds like you've already decided."

"Anna..."

"Please, can we just go home? I don't want to be here anymore. I'm sorry I made you fetch me."

They didn't speak during the drive home. The hum of tires on the road, the gentle click of the turn signals, the rhythmic flash of streetlights, were a quiet symphony of the unspoken. At home, Anna climbed the stairs to her room and closed the door behind her. She sat on her desk chair and stared through the window at the moon, a thin crescent against the city-washed sky. She often sat by herself with only the moon for company. She wondered if anyone at school would notice if she missed the last two weeks. Perhaps the three fiends.

"Stop that." She whispered into moon shadows.

Sometimes her thoughts rambled at her through the night, making sleep elusive and she'd cry silently into her pillow. Tonight, the tears didn't come. The anger, the frustration, the sadness boiling in her chest, the panic that shortened her breath, none of it was there. It felt like there was a hole where her breath should have been, like everything she'd felt had fallen through to nowhere. For a while, she tried to make the tears come. At least they'd be familiar. Instead, she could only stare at the moon-dim ceiling of her bedroom and scold herself for the way her day had turned out.

* * *

Anna stepped from the cab to the curb before the train station. There was already a crowd milling, anxious for the train, anxious to leave the city, anxious to be about whatever they'd come for. The taxi driver, a stoic man with a big beard and a bald pate, opened the trunk and hauled out her suitcase, dropping it carelessly to the sidewalk.

Anna extended the handle and wheeled it a few steps to the station doors before Violet said, "Just a moment."

Anna paused, thinking Violet had spoken to her.

"I'll be a few minutes."

"Yes, ma'am," said the taxi driver.

Anna walked through the automatic doors and to the counter. She heard Violet hurrying after her.

"Are you purchasing or do you already have a ticket?" asked the woman behind the counter.

Anna took a breath to reply.

"She already has a ticket," said Violet. She put a hand on Anna's shoulder, and Anna couldn't help but hunch. She hated herself for it. Violet had only ever been kind and attentive. Even after her husband died, Violet had done everything she could for Anna. But still, she hunched.

"Um, here you are," Violet said, pulling a piece of paper from her jacket pocket.

The woman behind the counter scanned it. Her computer chimed. "Vivianna Lawrence?"

"Yes, that's me," Anna said.

"You're all set. The train should be here in about five minutes. Will you be checking your luggage or keeping it with you?"

"With me," Anna said. She hadn't packed much. Five t-shirts, one button up. Two pairs of jeans, three pairs of shorts, a swimsuit, two weeks' worth of socks and underwear. Hairbrush, toothbrush, assorted toiletries. Her favorite book of poems, five new notebooks, two new packs of mechanical pencils, two of pens in a variety of colors, and her shoulderbag. She hadn't packed her smartphone.

The woman behind the counter printed out a ticket with her seat number and handed it to her. Anna moved to accept it, but Violet took it first and handed it to her. Anna took the ticket and tucked it in her pocket. She turned to roll her suitcase out to the platform. The cacophonous murmur inside the station grated. She wanted to be alone.

On the platform, with no one about, Anna took a deep breath just to make sure she could. The ghost of a pang deep in her chest threatened to steal her breath. She tried to ignore it.

_Don't be stupid. If you pass out on the train, you'll worry a whole bunch of people just trying to get through their day._

She stared across the tracks at the backside of a row of apartments. They were tall and narrow, two stories each, offset from each other like a brick pattern. Each had a balcony and a fenced yard. The backside of buildings were more honest than the front sides, she thought. Front sides were freshly maintained, well kempt, a front for passersby, judging those within. The backside, though, was home to hanging laundry, spent cardboard boxes, and crusty grills.

"Anna?"

Anna's hand gripping her suitcase tightened, and she turned. Violet looked more frail than Anna remembered, shoulders hunched, eyes shadowed. Anna hadn't realized before, but she was as tall as Violet now. It was strange, off-putting, like this was a dream, like she might wake tomorrow and go to school and none of this would have happened. Like she would feel normal. It seemed like forever since she'd felt normal.

'Since you're not taking your phone, I thought you might..." Violet held out a small, rectangular package. Post cards of pastoral scenes.

Anna had never written a postcard. There was limited space, enough for a poem. She had to admit the idea appealed. She took them and tried to think of what to say. 'Thank you' seemed too obvious. 'I love you' seemed dishonest. She wondered if reciting a bit of poetry would help.

 _Hello darkness, my old friend. Here comes the sun_.

But before she could think of what to say, the whistle of an approaching train separated them. They stared at each other until it ended.

Violet cleared her throat. "Sarah and Kenny will pick you up at the station. They've got the app, so they'll know if there's been a delay or if you're arriving early. Is there anything else you need before you go?"

Anna shook her head. "I'm fine."

"All right then."

The rumble of the train grew steadily, its whistle calling through the sapphire sky.

"All right then," Violet said again. She stood next to Anna, staring across the tracks at the backsides of those apartments. Anna turned and joined her. Their shoulders nearly touched. For the next few minutes, as train brakes squealed and the station platform filled, they didn't say anything.

Violet did not hug Anna before she got on the train. She knew Anna didn't like to be hugged. Instead she gave Anna a smile and a small wave. Anna waved back before finding her seat.

The seats were a uniform grey upholstery. They matched the carpet and the curtains. The windows were tall, letting in a lot of light from the oppressively bright day. Anna found her seat and retrieved a notebook and pencil from her bag before tucking it under the seat in front of her. The train car slowly filled and the murmur of voices grew. Anna stared out the window at nothing.

Eventually, the train lurched to and the conductor made his announcements.

A pair of young children used the aisle as a sprinting track before one of the conductors told them to knock it off. Someone played a movie a bit too loud through their headphones. Anna spent the time staring out the window, hoping nobody tried to talk to her. It was quiet. She liked quiet, but it was also lonely. And lately it seemed she was almost always alone.

 _Self-pity_ , she chided herself. _Quit that._

The train swayed gently and she let it carry her. The rhythmic ka-thunk-a-clunk set up in her thoughts and she let it drown the voice in her mind, the inner editor who critiqued her poetry, her thoughts, her actions.

Sometime later, when her thoughts had settled, Anna opened her notebook and tried to write a bit, perhaps about the train, or the bright, sunny day, or the backsides of apartments, but nothing felt right.

 _Why can't it be raining?_ She wrote.

She often liked to recite poetry by writing it down rather than aloud, but everything that popped to mind seemed trite or inappropriate, so she retrieved the package of postcards. Maybe she should write to Violet now. Get the first one out of the way. She noticed the package had already been opened and found Violet had written to her on one of the postcards in her small, neat hand.

_Vivianna,_

_I know the last few months haven't been easy for you, but I don't know why. You used to be so much happier, so much more expressive. It seems you're sad all the time. I hope it's not something I've done. If it is, I hope you can figure out how to tell me. Perhaps in a poem? You used to write me poems. I hope you don't think I've sent you away, or abandoned you. Dr. Pertwee thinks this will be good for you. A chance to relax outside the city, with clean air._

_Sarah and Kenny are sweet. They'll take good care of you for the summer. I've never met someone more maternal than my sister._

_Please write soon,_

_I love you,_

_-Violet_

Anna tucked the postcard into the back of her notebook. 


	2. Sarah and Kenny

The clear, sunny day followed Anna all the way to Glenwood, six hours winding through foothills to a small mountain town. Anna stepped off the train with her suitcase and wheeled it across the empty platform to the station entrance. She was the only passenger disembarking. Anna pulled the door open.

The wooden floorboards creaked under her as she stepped into the small room. There was a counter at the far end, but nobody stood behind it. Two people sat side by side on a bench by the street-side exit. They were the only ones in the station other than her.

"Hey, there she is. Right on time. I'm Kenny." Kenny stood, smiling. He was tall and slim with thinning hair in a ponytail. He approached, hand out and Anna took it meekly. "Good to see you, Vivianna. You were much smaller last time." He patted her shoulder, then took her suitcase from her hand.

"Oh. Um..."

"It's so good to see you, dear," Sarah said. Sarah was short and stout. Compared to Violet, she was fat, with wide hips, large bust, and broad belly. Before Anna could ask her not to, Sarah hugged her, enveloping her. When she was released, Anna gasped for breath. "Oh, and look at that hair," Sarah gushed, ruffling Anna's short locks. "It stayed such vibrant red. I thought for sure it would darken."

Anna hunched her shoulders.

Sarah didn't notice. She put an arm around Anna and steered her to the door while Kenny carried her suitcase. Anna bit her tongue. They didn't know she didn't like to be touched, that she'd prefer to carry her own suitcase.

Sarah squeezed her shoulders. "How was the trip?"

"Oh, um, fine."

Outside, Kenny tossed her suitcase into the back of a hatchback before closing it firmly. Anna winced.

"I gotta get gas across the street," he gestured katty-corner to a gas station. The red and white logo was faded and a bit grimy.

"You wanna walk or you wanna ride?"

"Ride," said Sarah.

"I'll walk," Anna said, a bit too quickly. She blushed and looked away, hoping she hadn't hurt Sarah's feelings. "I mean, if it's all right. I've been sitting for hours and I'd like to stretch my legs." It was true, but she also wanted out from under Sarah's motherly arm.

"Sure thing," said Kenny.

He and Sarah got into the car and pulled out of the train station parking lot. Anna made her way to the crosswalk. Sarah smiled and waved through the car window and Kenny waited for her to cross the street before making his way to the gas station.

Next to the gas station was a post office. Painted beige with a white storm drain next to the front door, it had brick flower boxes, a bright blue post box, and a bench outside. Grass grew in the cracks in the sidewalk. The paint around the door was scuffed and peeling. Anna stared at the post office, already feeling guilty about not writing to Violet.

"You want a soda or something?" Sarah called from the car where Kenny was gassing up.

Anna jolted, looked across the parking lot, and shook her head, forcing a small smile.

"Not even a ginger ale?" Sarah said, her voice carrying easily.

"I'm fine," Anna said, certain her voice didn't carry. She shook her head again.

At the edge of her vision, a curiosity caught Anna's attention, and she turned. Several yards past the post office, before the ground rose into foothills and cloud-capped mountains beyond, just before the sparse tree line, was a scarecrow. He hung upon a single, thick post standing straight and tall, at least ten feet, clad in weather-beaten finery. He wore a dusty, yellow, high collared shirt with a red tie under a faded, red and gold paisley vest. Over it all was a faded black coat with brass buttons whose tails hung nearly to the ground. He wore faded black slacks to match the coat, the ankles of which were twisted round the post from which he hung. His sackcloth head was featureless but for a pair of shiny, black button eyes. Atop his head was an old top hat with a frayed gold hatband. His shoulders were held to a crossbar by thick rope, and the arms of his coat dangled freely, frayed shirt cuffs poking out.

Anna walked down the side of the post office toward the scarecrow, stopping where the sidewalk ended and the field before the tree line began. It was a strange place for a scarecrow.

She heard voices approaching and instinctively hunched her shoulders. They sounded young, probably a little younger than her, a boy and a girl.

"I don't know why you want to do a school project. It's summer break. We're supposed to be free from all that stuff," said the boy.

"It's cleaning up a hiking trail," said the girl. "We're supposed to be student class co-presidents next year and that means we need to show dedication."

The boy groaned. "How about common sense? Can we show a little common sense instead?

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it's common sense to take a break when you're on break. We've broken free. That's why they call it a break."

The girl snorted her laughter.

"That wasn't a joke," the boy said.

"Hey, who's that?" the girl said.

Anna stiffened. She glanced to her right. Kenny was still gassing up the car. Sarah was nowhere to be seen. She knew sprinting for the safety of the car would be too obvious—she'd be considered rude before she'd even laid eyes on them. But she knew what came next, and she knew she'd be awkward at it.

_If I just turn casually and start walking like I didn't hear them..._

She tried to amble casually across the parking lot to the gas station. Kenny jiggled the gas pump, withdrew it, and hung it up. He was screwing on the gas cap when the boy called out.

"Hey. Are you new here?"

Anna stopped. There was no use pretending she didn't know they were talking to her. There was no one else around. Besides, in a town this small, they probably knew everyone else their age. It was obvious she was new. So she turned to look at them, clasping her hands behind her back and swaying nervously. The boy was about her height and round with dimpled cheeks and careful spectacles. The girl had her hair braided into two tails. She had a small nose and a curious grin.

"You are," said the boy. "You are new here. My name is Frank. This is Bertie." They walked toward her and stopped a few feet away.

"We're the student class co-presidents of Glenwood High's freshman class next year," said Bertie.

"Um, good morning," said Anna.

"A-aand, what's your name?" said Bertie.

"Oh. Um... I'm Anna. I'm staying with the Copelands for the summer." She gestured at Kenny who was cleaning the windshield.

"Aren't they the weirdos who live up on the hill and hardly ever come into town?" Frank said.

Anna frowned at him.

Bertie nudged him. "Don't be rude." She looked at Anna. "Don't mind him. He's a dope." She laughed at her own observation, but when neither Frank nor Anna joined in, Bertie coughed awkwardly and looked around. "That's some interesting hair you've got," said Bertie. "How did you get it so ginger?"

Anna shook her head. "It just is."

"You didn't dye it?"

"No."

"You have naturally ginger hair?" Bertie persisted.

"Auburn," said Anna. "It's called auburn."

"Oh, well, excuse me."

Anna flinched. She hadn't meant to offend the other girl.

"Well, I think it's pretty," Frank said.

He reached out to her hair, but Anna shrank back. "Please don't."

Frank pulled his hand back and laughed. "Kind of shy, aren't you?"

Anna watched Bertie flush, shoulders tense, eyes narrowed. She hoped Kenny would be done cleaning the windows soon, that he'd call her over so she had an excuse to leave without upsetting them more than she already had.

"I saw you staring at Old King," Bertie said, changing the subject.

"What?"

"You don't know about Old King?" Frank asked, gesturing at the scarecrow. "It's our biggest legend. He was one of the gold miners who founded this place, struck it rich in the mountains hereabouts and founded Glenwood. Said he liked the hot springs. Ali Clayfield was his name. Baron of Hot Springs, Duke of the Valley, Old King of Gold."

Bertie snorted. "There are all sorts of silly legends about him. That he was found as an orphan floating down a river, that he could turn lead into gold by touching it, that he was turned into a scarecrow by spirits." She laughed and gestured at the scarecrow. "This is the town's monument to the old ghost." She laughed again.

"Don't make fun of ghosts," Frank said.

"Afraid of an old story?" Bertie mocked.

They weren't talking to her anymore, so Anna edged away a bit, hoping they wouldn't notice. But Bertie glanced at her and frowned.

"Uh, it was nice to meet you," Anna said, trying to sound sincere. "But, uh, I think... I think I better get going."

"Sure," said Bertie.

"Yeah, see you around..." Frank hesitated. "Anna?"

Anna nodded. "Right."

Frank smiled at her and Anna blushed and hurried away.

"She's just as odd as the Copelands," Bertie muttered.

Frank snickered.

Sarah met her, coming out of the gas station with a plastic bag. "Who's that you're talking to? Already making new friends?"

Anna shrugged uncomfortably. "Um, maybe?"

"Here, I got you a ginger ale," Sarah said, pulling a green plastic bottle from the bag.

"Thanks." Anna said. It was easier

The back seat of the Copeland's car was dusty. A cardboard box took up the left seat and she squeezed in next to it. The seatbelt caught twice before she could snap it into its buckle.

"Everyone ready?" Kenny asked, his voice too big for the small car. He glanced back at her and Anna nodded. He turned the key, the car came to life, and they rumbled onto the road. "It's a bit of a clunker, but it gets from point A to point B just fine."

"For now," said Sarah. "We might break down at any moment. You ready to get out and push if we need you to, Anna?"

"Um. Sure?" said Anna.

"Oh, she's just teasing," said Kenny. "We'll be just fine." The car made a noise like a cough, then again. Kenny patted the dashboard. "We're just fine, old girl. You can do it."

Anna looked out the window as they rumbled through the small town. Storefronts were brightly painted, rooftops brightly tiled. Down side streets stood houses with small yards. A large brown sign with white lettering advertised Glenwood Hot Springs, 3.75 miles, and an arrow pointing left. They crossed a bridge over a wide, slow-moving river, declared the Okagawa by a sign on the other side.

"You like hot springs, Anna?" Sarah asked. "They'd probably be good for your asthma."

"Maybe," said Anna. "Warm and humid is usually good." She was glad Violet had suggested she pack her swimsuit, even though wearing it where people could see her made her uncomfortable. 

"What about the fog?" asked Kenny. "We get it rolling down off the mountains all summer."

"It's probably fine."

"Well, be careful wandering around when the fog is in. They say this town is one of the most haunted in the whole country. Ghosts have been known to seek out wanderers."

"Stop that," Sarah said. "Don't try to frighten her."

"I'm not trying to frighten her, I'm trying to warn her," Kenny said, tone exaggeratedly innocent. He looked over his shoulder and winked at Anna.

Anna smiled.

"Don't mind him, Anna," Sarah said.

"Seriously though," said Kenny, "People have gotten lost in the fog. It's best not to wander when it rolls in."

They left the town behind and climbed winding switchbacks up a steep hill covered in grass and wildflowers. Anna looked back the way they'd come, looking over the town shrinking away so she could take it in. It was tiny, or so it seemed to her, having spent most of her life in a large city. The railroad curved along the far side of town. The river in its muddy bank came through the mountains to cross the railroad before disappearing behind a bank of foothills.

"That's not so bad, she said quietly.

"Hmm? What's that?" said Sara.

"Oh. Um, nothing," said Anna.

Sarah and Kenny continued to chat but Anna lost the thread of the conversation. Watching the town of Glenwood sink into the valley below, felt like watching the rest of the world, with its harsh words and cruel looks and sharp erasers, shrink to a manageable size. She took a deep breath and her chest did not clench.

 _Careful,_ she told herself. _Don't get too excited. It'll just disappoint you later._

Sarah and Kenny's house was at the top of the hill with more hills rising behind it into greater mountains looming beyond. They parked in the driveway and Kenny lifted out the large box Anna had ridden next to.

"You got your suitcase?"

"Sure," Anna said.

Sarah opened the front door for them. Anna entered their home behind Kenny. She was struck first by the smell: wood stain, sawdust and glue, with a hint of tea somewhere in the background.

"Come on upstairs and I'll show you where you'll be staying," Sarah said. "All five of our kids are grown up and moved out, so you'll have the place to yourself." Sarah slipped off her shoes and headed for the stairs in her stocking feet, so Anna did the same.

Upstairs, Sarah showed Anna to a bedroom with a bunkbed, dresser, and desk with shelves reaching the ceiling. They were all simply made and stained dark. The dresser drawers had patterns carved into them, whorls and swirls.

"The furniture is nice," Anna said.

"Kenny made those," Sarah said. "Yeah, he's a real handy woodworker. The desk and dresser are empty, so feel free to make use of them. The sheets and pillowcases are freshly laundered. Clean towels are in the bathroom down the hall. If there's anything else you need, just let me know, all right?"

"All right," Anna said.

"I'm sure you're tired after your trip. Go ahead and settle in. I'll make sure to call you for dinner."

Anna nodded and Sarah closed the door behind her as she left.

Anna took another deep breath and still her chest did not clench. The room smelled of dust and cleaner, laundry soap and mint tea. She rolled her suitcase to the side of the bunkbed and sat on the lower bunk.

After several minutes of staring into nowhere, not knowing what to do next, Anna noticed the balcony. A pair of gauzy curtains covered a sliding glass door. With a flutter of excitement, Anna pushed to her feet, pulled aside the curtain, and opened the door. The balcony ran the length of the sliding glass door and was just deep enough to sit upon comfortably.

She stepped up to the railing and put her hands on it. It was smooth and solid under her. She pressed down, lifting herself up until her hips rested upon it. She leaned forward ever so slightly, so she balanced, and felt her heartrate quicken. Looking over the side of the balcony, she found the shingled slope of the ground floor roof over a flagstone patio and the backyard. There was a fire pit and a grill and a clothesline and a garden. Mismatched benches stood near a pair of sawhorses further back. An old wooden tool box sat nearby.

Her gaze swept over the backyard and beyond to the vale between their hill and the next. The vale was filled with a dense grove of aspen and spruce. Her gaze continued to the top of the next hill.

And there stood a house.

"I wonder who lives over there," she whispered.

She couldn't make out details from this distance, but it looked like it was in need of maintenance. Shingles were missing. Paint was faded. The courtyard was overgrown. Just about level with her balcony, a window jutted from the house as though it supported a window seat.

Anna stared at the house across the vale, entranced. She didn't know how long she stood on the little balcony, but eventually the rest of the world returned to her. The smell of an early summer breeze, the sounds of Sarah and Kenny rattling about downstairs, the distant ache of her back, having sat on the train for six hours. She unpacked her clothes and tucked them into the dresser. She hadn't brought near enough to fill it, so she only took one drawer, second from the top. All her clothes were meticulously folded and neatly ordered. She put her new notebooks on the desk, spiral spines alternating left, right, left, right, left. She'd already opened one package of mechanical pencils, so she dumped the rest on the desk and stacked them in a neat pyramid. The unopened packages went in the desk drawer. The book of poems she set on the pillow of the bottom bunk.

Unpacked, Anna collected her little duffle of toiletries and opened the bedroom door quietly as she could. The latch barely made a sound. She tiptoed down the hallway, passing three other bedrooms, one of which looked like a guest room, one of which was lined with well-stuffed bookshelves, and one of which was packed with a sewing table, a cutting table, and stacks upon stacks of colorful fabric. At the far end of the hall was the bathroom. As promised, a stack of clean towels stood on the counter.

Anna made sure the bathroom door was closed and locked before she turned the shower on hot. She put her bag of toiletries next to the sink, pulled out her hairbrush and brushed her short hair quickly. She couldn't help but catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She didn't much care for her face. Her nose was too small, her cheeks too round, her chin too jutted. But she'd always liked her hair, vibrant auburn and slightly wavy, red hair was uncommon amongst her peers, especially with her light brown skin. She'd cut it short when they'd started making fun of her for it.

Anna took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs in bare feet. She'd only seen the entry and the stairs of the bottom floor, but it wasn't hard to find Kenny and Sarah. Beyond the entry, the bottom floor was one large, open room with the kitchen on the left and the living room on the right, separated by an island counter with a myriad of mismatched stools. The living room was expansive with a pair of couches and a coffee table, a couple of bookshelves, another set of couches facing a large television, and a couple well-stuffed chairs next to the front window and a little reading lamp. A pair of large, sliding glass doors led to a patio and the backyard she'd seen from above.

The kitchen was about half the size of the living room but still large compared to Anna's experience. The floor was tile, the countertops were stone. A deep, white sink and lots of cupboards, stained golden brown, took up one wall. Anna wondered if Kenny had made the cabinets.

Kenny sat on the patio, carving a piece of wood. Sarah was in the kitchen, chopping tomatoes.

"Oh, Anna, there you are. Did you find the clean towels all right?" Sarah asked.

Anna nodded.

"Wanna help me make dinner?"

Anna wasn't an especially good cook, but she did know how to chop vegetables. She took the knife from Sarah, who fetched ingredients from the refrigerator and cupboards and set to work at the stove.

"Noodles and red sauce okay with you?"

"Sounds great," said Anna.

She chopped tomatoes until Sarah told her that was enough, then got out of the way as the real cooking began. Twilight settled in just as dinner was ready. Anna glanced at the clock. It was only a quarter to seven.

"You all right, Anna? You look perplexed," said Kenny.

"It seems a little early for sundown in summer."

"Oh, yeah, that's the effect of living in the valley. High mountains on either side makes days short."

They all sat around the island counter while Sarah dished up penne noodles in tomato sauce with basil and garlic. Thin-grated parmesan was piled high in a small green bowl in the center of the counter. Fresh lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, olives, and celery sat in a large wooden bowl.

Anna took some of everything and ate quickly.

"Good thing I made extra," said Sarah. "Eat as much as you want."

Anna took a second, smaller helping.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of light through the kitchen window across the backyard, but when she looked, there was nothing. It'd been dim and small, as though from the house on the other side of the vale.

"Who lives over that way?" she asked, gesturing at the other house.

"What's that?" said Kenny.

"In the other house," Anna reiterated.

"Oh, that old place," said Sarah. "Nobody's lived there for a long time. A decade at least. I think it's bank-owned."

"I thought I saw a light or something."

"That'll happen," said Kenny. "Reflections off the windows, or sometimes there are hikers out there."

When dinner was done, Anna insisted on washing the dishes even though Sarah had a fancy dishwasher. When she was done, Sarah and Kenny had settled into their chairs by the front window. The cardboard box Anna had ridden next to was open nearby, filled with books. They each had a book open in their laps.

"Care to join us?" Kenny asked. "I could pull up a couch."

Anna was tempted. She loved to read and the companionable quiet felt nice. But she shook her head. "I'm pretty tired. I think..." a yawn interrupted her. "I think I'll just go to bed."

"All right. Good night, dear," said Sarah.

"Night," said Kenny.

The bedroom was warm, so Anna opened the sliding door to the balcony. The cool of an early summer evening drifted past the gauzy curtains. She changed for bed into a sleeveless shirt and pair of shorts. She'd never liked full pajamas. They always made her feel she was drowning in her sleep. She sat at the desk for a while and stared at a blank piece of paper, pencil in hand. Eventually she turned off the light and went to lay down.

A glimmer of light from outside, beyond the balcony, caught her attention. She blinked and it was gone.

"Just a reflection," she reminded herself.

She lay down, closed her eyes, and tried to still her thoughts.

Sarah and Kenny were kind. They hadn't pressured her with unwanted questions, they hadn't asked why she wasn't smiling or speaking up. They hadn't insisted she spend time with them. They hadn't been in any way pushy or clingy, though Sarah liked hugging far more than Anna was comfortable with. The encounter with Frank and Bertie had been unfortunate. She hadn't tried to be off-putting, she just wasn't good at talking to people her age. Anna replayed the conversation in her mind, wondering if she might have done something different.

"Stop that," she whispered. "Think about something else."

She thought about the house across the vale and wondered who might have lived there, what they were like. It was such an isolated house, even more so than Sarah and Kenny's. Whoever lived there must have liked to be alone. 


	3. Through Fog

Kenny made a huge pile of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon and stacks of toast. Sarah put glass jars of orange marmalade and blueberry jam and apple butter on the island counter.

"All home-canned," she said proudly.

Anna joined them at the counter and put together a large breakfast for herself. Everything smelled wonderful.

"Any big plans for today?" Kenny asked.

Anna assumed Sarah would respond, but when she didn't, Anna looked up and found them looking at her.

She swallowed. "Oh, um, me? Not really. I don't know what there is to do."

"What do you like to do?" asked Sarah.

"I like to read. I like to write poetry. It's not very good poetry, but it lets me feel creative." Anna hunched, embarrassed to admit her creative endeavors.

"Nothing better than feeling creative," Kenny said. "I can doodle on a cabinet door all day, trying to get it right."

"Well, you're welcome to read anything we've got here," said Sarah, gesturing at the bookcases in the living room. "The bedroom next to yours is filled with books, if you're interested in searching through them, but if you want to stretch your legs, the library in town is nice."

"It might be nice to wander down to town," Anna said.

"A true poet," Kenny said. "She works best in isolation." He winked at her.

Anna grinned. It felt nice.

"But be careful if you decide to wander up into the foothills," he said. "People have gotten lost that way."

After breakfast, Anna washed the dishes so Kenny could go out back to his workbench and Sarah up to her sewing room. When she was done, she put her book of poems, notebook she'd already scribbled in, three mechanical pencils, two black pens, and one red, into her shoulderbag. She poked her head into Sarah's sewing room. Sarah stood over her large cutting table, measuring fabric.

"I think I'm going to wander into town," Anna said.

Sarah nodded without looking up. "Let us know if you're going to be late for dinner, yeah?"

"Oh, um, sure." Anna was taken aback. It was the least questioning she'd ever received before going out on her own. Violet always wanted to know precisely where she was going, for how long, who else might be there, and whether or not she needed a ride. Anna hesitated for several moments before she nodded, turned, and trotted down the stairs.

Descending into Glenwood was like falling into a model. Most of the buildings had tiled shingles in a variety of colors: red, blue, yellow, brown, green. Many were brick with brightly colored window casements painted the same color as the roof singles. A bright green street sign named the main thoroughfare Clayfield Street. It was lined with two to three story buildings, one of which boasted a clock tower. The side streets housed fewer businesses and quickly sprawled into an eclectic range of houses. Some cozy and cute, some tall and statuesque, some squat and sprawling.

It was a ten minute walk down the switchbacks into town. Anna stopped a moment on the bridge over the Okagawa River and looked upon its muddy surface. It moved slowly here, languid, but further upriver where it came down from the mountains, she could see it moved swiftly and caught a hint of rapids. On the other side of the bridge, she came onto Clayfield Street proper. She made note of the various shops: Cedar's Candies, Rock-Art Shoppe, Julia's Consignments, Coffee Courtyard, Foothills Used Books, Rockslide Brewery, Vendor's Emporium, and so on.

Anna tried not to think as she wandered down Clayfield Street. She tried just to observe. The warmth of a summer morning, the sound of people up and down the street, the smell of restaurants preparing for lunch, and the faint roar of wind high in the mountains on either side muted by distance and barely discernible.

Anna stopped in front of the coffee shop and took a deep breath. She loved the smell of coffee even if the bitterness left her dissatisfied, and she looked back the way she'd come. The hill Kenny and Sarah's house was on wasn't visible thanks to the buildings on Clayfield Street, but the mountains behind were a looming presence. Thick clouds obscured the mountain tops, moving slowly, pouring down the slopes in slow motion. She watched the clouds for a while, letting the world move around her, letting her thoughts be still.

"What's she doing?" It was Frank.

"I don't know," said Bertie.

"Do you think maybe she's heartbroken?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The way she's staring off. Maybe a boy broke her heart," Frank said.

Bertie scoffed. "Why do boys always assume it has something to do with another boy?"

"So what's she doing then?"

"Maybe she's a weirdo." Bertie said.

Anna stiffened. She'd been able to let their inane conversation slide over her until that.

"Aren't you the one always telling me to be nicer?" Frank reprimanded. He raised his voice a bit. "Hey, uh, Amy?"

Anna grit her teeth and turned. "It's Anna," she said.

"Anna. Right, I knew that." He laughed "Sorry. You doing okay?"

Anna gestured around herself, as though at the world. "I was just... trying not to think too hard."

Bertie laughed. "What do you mean?"

Anna hesitated. Kids her age thought she was strange when she explained. Frank and Bertie already thought she was strange. She wasn't sure it would help to explain.

_What's the worst they could do, laugh at me? They've already done that._

"I like to write poetry," Anna said, "But I'm not very good at it, so I'm trying to pay attention."

"By not thinking," said Bertie.

Anna nodded. "Have you ever done something, or been in a situation that didn't go as well as it might have, and you think about it over and over again, wondering what you might have done differently, if you could have been braver or nicer or better?"

Frank's expression went wide behind his glasses. He looked at Bertie who blinked at him.

"So, sometimes, I think it's useful to let all that go." Anna said. "To get outside my own head, to pay attention to everything else, to take in details, to let myself feel. And if I do that, sometimes it helps me write a half-decent poem."

They looked at her like she was crazy.

"Anyway," said Anna. "That's what I was doing."

Behind the pair, half a block away, Anna noticed a squat, brick building with brown tile shingles, the word Library carved in stone over the front door. This conversation, Anna knew, was shot. Once again, she'd made a bad impression. So, she decided to move on.

"If you'll excuse me." She walked around them and past a small park between the coffee shop and the library.

"Wow," Frank said, none too subtly. "I don't know if that was deep or weird."

The inside of the library was old-fashioned, with brown and orange patterned carpet, minimalist metal bookshelves, and brick planters filled with gravel. Ignoring everyone, Anna wended her way to the back of the library where she found a wooden study cubicle next to a tall, thin window, overlooking the park between the library and the shops on Clayfield Street.

She wrote about the smell of coffee and the warmth of summer and the sound of the wind high in the mountains. She wrote about being interrupted and wondering if she were weird. She wrote about being alone and preferring it. She wrote about metal bookshelves and empty planters. She wrote nonstop about whatever came to mind for as long as she could, flipping through the pages of her notebook, scribbling ideas, her hand so much slower than her thoughts. When she was done, she closed the notebook and leaned back in the chair.

She was restless. The library had given her a quiet space and a flat surface, but it had done its job and she needed to see more. Soon she was wandering the side streets of Glenwood. She took in front doors and front yards, listened to lawn mowers and bird song, she squeezed down alleyways with cats and squirrels and ravens. Occasionally she sat on whatever was convenient, the sidewalk a park bench even a large boulder at the corner of someone's yard, and wrote about details.

The only piece of writing advice that had ever stuck with her had been from her sixth grade English teacher who, in a moment of bluntness, had said, "Anyone could have written this. There's nothing about this poem that tells me it's yours. It's vague and abstract. There are no details."

Ever since, Anna had tried to focus on the details.

There was a rock in the gutter by the sidewalk where she sat. It was mottled blue and green and bluish-green. It was circular, a flat sort of cylinder, almost coin shaped. Anna wrote about how smooth it was in her fingers, smelling of dust, then tucked it in her pocket and stood.

She didn't notice the fog until she was ankle deep in it, a pale grey haze swirling about her ankles, making the cuffs of her jeans damp. She looked around to find a subtle pale haze all about, the buildings more than a block away mere shadows, the sky above a uniform grey. Anna had wandered without aim, so couldn't have said where she was any more precisely than 'in town', but she refused to let herself panic at suddenly feeling lost. She turned a slow circle, looking for something familiar, and found the clock tower on Clayfield Street, only two blocks away.

Walking down Clayfield Street, Anna found the town was no less active for fog having settled in. People still filled restaurants and art shops and wandered up and down the street, but everything seemed a bit slower, a bit quieter.

The fog thickened as she approached the bridge over the Okagawa River. She took the first right up the winding switchbacks to Kenny and Sarah's place, letting her mind wander through swirling eddies of fog growing thicker the higher she climbed. About ten minutes later, it was not Kenny and Sarah's house she came upon, but the house across the vale. Up close it was in better shape than Anna had thought. The courtyard fronting the house was smooth and empty of weeds, the brick walls were clean, the bright blue window trim was smooth and freshly painted, the matching roof tiles were meticulous. From here, even in the growing dimness of fog, the house looked fancy.

_Emerging from the mists,_

_Smoothly mortared and freshly painted,_

_The house across the vale_

"Meh," Anna shook her head on the corny verse.

A light clicked on in the room with the second story window jutting from the face of the house, the window on level with her little balcony at Kenny and Sarah's place, the window she'd wondered about the night before. Anna took several steps back, putting her heels on the edge of the road that would take her back down the hill. She hoped the fog was thick enough to hide her.

_Why should I hide? I'm lost, not trespassing._

A girl appeared at the window.

She turned the latch and pushed the windows out wide. She had dark skin, and broad, bold features with prominent cheekbones. Her hair was tightly curled and springy and it fell over her shoulders when she leaned out to push the windows open. Anna gasped at the sight of her for her hair was auburn, almost the same shade as Anna's. The girl disappeared into the room and Anna nearly called out to her. A few moments later she returned carrying a guitar. She sat upon the window seat, shoulder resting on the window casement, neck of the guitar thrust into the fog.

The girl strummed, turned a few pegs, strummed again, tuned again, and picked out a quick, quiet melody. It wasn't a song Anna knew but she could tell, even from this distance, the girl's fingers were adept, each plucked string confident. Soon the girl moved into a more complex melody, adding undertones, pulling chords and rhythms from the strings Anna could hardly believe. Delicate, quick, intricate.

Anna took a few steps toward the house before she realized it. She wanted to call out, to tell the girl how beautiful the music was, but she bit her lip. She remembered how poorly she'd interacted with Bertie and Frank, how odd they found her, how sometimes people could be cruel. So she contented herself to stare at the girl with the guitar, and listen.

"Hello," said the girl.

Anna had been so focused on the music, she hadn't realized the girl was looking down at her.

"You are real, aren't you?" the girl asked. "Or am I addressing an illusion?"

Anna giggled and it surprised her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd giggled. She took a step forward, hands clasped behind her back, swaying. "Well, if I'm an especially good illusion, how would you know the difference?" She looked up at the girl in the second story window, bashful.

The girl laughed, loud and delighted, and Anna felt her chest swell, her shoulders tingle, her cheeks warm.

"What a fantastic response. And have you name, my lovely illusion?"

The warmth in Anna's cheeks flared to a burn. She bit her lip and looked away.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the girl. "I didn't mean to embarrass you." The sincerity of her tone was edged with concern.

Anna cleared her throat. "No," she whispered. She cleared her throat again and said louder, "It's all right." The girl strummed her guitar and Anna found the sound comforting. "My name is... It's Vivianna. But you can call me Anna. Everyone does."

The girl smiled, still picking out a quiet melody, as though an afterthought.

"Hmm. I like the sound of Vivianna. I think that's what I shall call you. If it's all right?"

Anna nodded. She swallowed her shyness and said, "What's your name?"

"Michaela."

"Well, um, I just want to say that I'm sorry I intruded, but... but I'm also glad, because your guitar playing is lovely."

Michaela stopped playing for a moment, suddenly self-conscious, then started again, running a quick scale, then another, before settling into a quiet strumming pattern. "You really think so? Baba says it's a silly thing for me to waste my time with."

"Who's Baba?"

Michaela shook her head. "Let's talk about something nicer. Do you live nearby? I've never seen you before."

Anna waved her hand vaguely behind her. "I'm staying with my... with Kenny and Sarah in the house over there."

Michaela looked through the fog. "Now I know I'm dreaming. No one has lived in that house for at least a decade."

Anna frowned. That sounded familiar. She looked over her shoulder. Kenny and Sarah's house should have been clearly visible on the hilltop across the vale, but the fog obscured, leaving only a vague ghost of a shadow that might have been it.

"Michaela!"

The voice was high and rough and mean. Anna turned back to look at the window above her. Michaela stood with her back to the window, guitar clutched in one hand. A woman approached, face thin and drawn, iron-grey hair in a tight bun, expression stern. She grabbed Michaela's arm and jerked her hard. Michaela yelped, dropping her guitar. Anna winced even as she backed up several steps.

The woman returned to the window and leaned out to close them. She paused, a hand on either window, to sweep the fog-shrouded courtyard with a fierce gaze. Anna backed further, shoulders tight, chest aching, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. The ground fell away beneath her and Anna slipped, sliding down the slope of the hill several feet until she crouched, closing her eyes and putting her hands on the damp, grassy slope. She looked up as the woman closed the windows with a snap and disappeared into the room.

All Anna could see was the orange-yellow glow of the light illuminating the pale ceiling of Michaela's room. Part of her wanted to rush into the house and rescue Michaela. Instead she looked over her shoulder at the hilltop across the vale. The fog shifted, and the glow of light through a distant window shone. She looked back at Michaela's window, but it had gone dark.

"I... I'm sorry," Anna whispered.

She turned and sprinted headlong into the fog, chest clenched, breath short. She looked up as she ran, keeping her eyes on the glow of Sarah and Kenny's house. It wasn't far. If she stayed on the road she was certain she'd find a spot where she could cut through the vale rather than winding all the way back down the hill. But a glance at her feet showed here there was no road, just a vague path vanishing into the grass. She looked up again and realized she was quickly coming upon the copse of trees at the base of the vale.

Anna stopped at the tree line, resting one hand on the bole of an aspen, bent and breathing hard, chest aching, threatening to squeeze her throat. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breath. The fog was thicker here, among the trees, and each damp breath was a bit easier than the previous. When the ache in her chest was only a suggestion, she looked back the way she'd come. The other house, and Michaela's window, was a shadow in the fog. But the other way, through the trees, she could still see the glow of Kenny and Sarah's.

With one last look at the fog where Michaela's widow had been, Anna wended through the copse to Sarah and Kenny's. The pine smelled lovely and the aspen whispered gently and she made her way in a mental haze. She felt bad for Michaela, but she didn't know what to do for her.

The ground turned soggy and Anna winced as she sank ankle deep into boggy mud. The water soaked the top of her socks and seeped into her shoes. Grimacing, Anna pushed on, each shlorping step a trial. By the time she considered backtracking and finding a way around, she could see the other side of the copse. She lost her left shoe first, stumbling a step or two on. When she turned to look for it, it was gone. Her next step claimed her left sock and the one after that her right shoe. She bent to grab her shoe before it could sink away and fell to her knees, muddying her jeans. She grabbed the shoe and pulled it from the muck with a pop. By the time she was climbing the grassy hill to Sarah and Kenny's house, she was barefoot and muddy to her knees, one shoe grasped in her muddy left hand.

She wanted to cry, for her lost shoe, her lost socks, for Michaela who she'd abandoned to the cruel woman with the grey hair.

_Quit that. They don't want to deal with an emotional teenager._

She swallowed hard and forced away the feeling, shoving it into the emotionless hole in her chest.

On the other side of the copse, she climbed out of the vale and into the backyard. Kenny was bent over his workbench, but he looked up from the length of wood he was working with a sander as she drew close. He took in her muddy shoe and muddy legs and grinned. "I see you found the bog." He made a curving gesture. "The trick is to find your way around it."

Anna shrugged. "I thought of that, but not until I was halfway through."

Kenny nodded. "I've made that mistake more than once. Have a seat, I'll fetch a towel." He looked at her feet again. "Maybe two."

Anna was relieved. She'd thought he might be angry with her.

When Kenny returned, she cleaned her feet as best she could, getting the mud off and rolling up her jeans so as not to track it through the house. Kenny took the towels and told her not to worry about it. She was headed upstairs to change when Sarah called from the kitchen.

"Dinner in five."

Anna's stomach growled. She rinsed the last of the mud from her legs in the shower and changed.

Dinner was beef stroganoff, thick whole-wheat noodles in a creamy brown sauce with tender beef tips, diced onions, and garlic. The salad was spinach, tomatoes, and a light white dressing. Despite the fog, it was a warm evening, and Kenny kept the back door open. Eddies of mist occasionally swirled in.

"Don't worry about it," Sarah said. "Some of Ashley's old shoes are still in the garage. I'll fetch them for you."

"I must have taken a wrong turn," Anna said. "I was on the road the whole way, but I ended up at the other house."

"There isn't a road to the other house anymore," Sarah said. "It's more of a trail."

"I told you," Kenny said, mouth half full, "The fog is mysterious. Keep an eye out for ghosts."

_Is that what you are, Michaela? A ghost?_

Sarah flicked her napkin at him. "Stop trying to scare her."

Anna smiled. "It's all right. Ghost stories are fun."

Kenny chuckled at his victory. Sarah rolled her eyes. Anna kept glancing out the back door, across the vale, as the fog dissipated, revealing the long twilight of the valley. By the time the fog had lifted entirely, it was too dark to see the house, and there were no lights on.

Anna stayed up late, sitting in bed, writing in her notebook.

_Plucking haunting strains,_

_Hair of crimson gold,_

_The girl with the guitar,_

_The phantom in the fog..._

* * *

Anna woke early. She stood upon the balcony and stared through the coming twilight, uncertain if she could make out the lines of the house or if it was just her imagination. Or perhaps both.

The house was quiet as she trotted downstairs in her stockinged feet. She stood in the kitchen for several moments, considering. She wasn't much of a cook, but she did know how to scramble eggs. After several moments more, she rooted through the fridge and collected eggs, cheddar, and biscuits from a tube. The coffee she found in the freezer. After a couple nights doing the dishes, she knew where most of them were stored, and she got to work. Soon the smell of brewing coffee filled the kitchen. She shredded the cheese, put the biscuits in the oven and oiled a pan for the eggs.

When Kenny came sleepily from the bedroom door at the far end of the living room, shaking the sleep from his eyes and pushing back his shaggy bedhead, Anna was ready to put eggs to plates.

"Wow," he said, yawning. He turned and called into the bedroom, "Hey, snookums, Anna made breakfast. Can we keep her?"

Sarah's laughter was muted through the door.

Anna blushed.

The biscuits were just this side of burned, but with a little extra jam or marmalade, they tasted fine. It was hard to ruin scrambled eggs, and the cheese helped enormously. Anna didn't think much of coffee, but Kenny and Sarah seemed to think it was perfect.

"I thought you said you couldn't cook," Sarah said.

Anna nodded. "This is the extent of my ability."

Kenny grinned. "No complaints here."

Sarah shooed Anna away when she tried to do the dishes. "You cooked. I'll clean."

"Oh. Um, it's just... I don't want to be a burden."

"Anna, it's no more trouble for me to cook for three than it is for two and we can all trade off doing dishes. You're not making any more work for me. I promise."

Anna nodded, trying to hide her uncertainty. She must not have done a good job because Sarah hugged her. Anna stiffened and Sarah let go.

"Dear, if I'm being too clingy, all you have to do is say so. But if you don't say so, I won't know."

_Easy for you to say._

Anna swallowed a lump of embarrassment and said, "I, um... I don't usually like to be hugged."

Sarah smiled at her. "I understand. Now get out of the kitchen."

Anna nodded. She hurried upstairs, collected her shoulderbag, put on Sarah's daughter's old shoes, and went out the back door. It was a warm morning and she was glad she'd chosen a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt. She hurried to the edge of the hilltop and stared over the tops of the trees at Michaela's house. It was dark and quiet in the bright of morning.

There were no clouds, not a hint of fog. Anna descended into the little vale. Without the fog, it was easy to see where the copse in the vale turned soggy and she circumvented it. She kept a lookout for her socks and shoe but saw no hint of either.

When she crested the other hill, the house was not the same. Certainly, it was the same house, but the paint was peeling, the courtyard overgrown, the windows grimy. Anna walked up the steps to the front door. The brass handle was dusty. She put a hand on it cautiously. There was no shock, no otherworldly jolt, it was just a metal door handle. She turned it and, to her surprise, the door opened.

The entry had hardwood floors and a tile fireplace and vaulted ceilings. There was no furniture, and dust covered everything. A set of stairs stood on the right and Anna climbed them, one hand on the smooth banister. At the top of the stairs was a hallway. She turned right, toward the front of the house, and found a single doorway.

The room beyond was clearly a bedroom, though it was empty. Old wallpaper faded and peeled. A dirty yellow circle in the center of the ceiling had a pair of old wires poking from it where a light fixture had been. The window seat was bare wood. Anna went to the window and rubbed away the dirt on a spot of window. Sarah and Kenny's was easily visible.

"Did I dream it?"

Anna sat on the cushionless window seat, got out her notebook, and wrote for a while. When she got restless, she explored the rest of the house. Upstairs were two more bedrooms and two bathrooms, one of which was only accessible through another bedroom. Downstairs was an expansive kitchen with gaps where appliances should have been, a long dining room, and a room that might have been a living room, but that also put her in mind of a ball room. It must have been amazing when people still lived there.

When she got hungry, Anna went back through the vale. She still didn't find her missing footwear, but she didn't look that hard.

She spent the afternoon lying on the bottom bunk, reading poetry: _Blowin' in the Wind_ by Dylan; _Old Man_ by Young, _Landslide_ by Nicks. In the other room, the rhythmic thumping of Sarah's sewing machine droned. Downstairs, Kenny's circle saw and hammering provided occasional counterpoint. She fell asleep when the shadows were long and her mind was still. She woke when Kenny tapped at the doorframe.

"You want dinner?"

Anna sat up with a deep breath. "Yeah."

Dinner was good, but Anna couldn't pay much attention because when she got downstairs another fog had rolled in, obscuring the early twilight of the valley. She sat with Kenny and Sarah at the counter and ate mechanically, staring out the back door toward Michaela's house.

"You're awfully distracted tonight," Sarah said.

"Leave her alone," said Kenny. "She's probably in the middle of composing a poem."

"Hmm? Me?" said Anna.

Sarah laughed. "That's quite all right dear. You're more than welcome to be lost in your thoughts. Violet was often the same at your age."

Anna blushed and looked away. She didn't think of herself as much like Violet. Violet always seemed worried and anxious. She couldn't imagine Violet a dreamer.

When dinner was done, Anna did the dishes absently, wondering if Kenny was right, if the fog was mysterious, if there really were ghosts and that's how she'd met Michaela. Did it mean she could see Michaela tonight? Through the fog?

Kenny and Sarah had been anything but overbearing. She'd been free to wander through town and get lost in the fog and while away the afternoon without so much as a single nosey question. But Anna felt fairly certain they'd object if they knew she planned to walk to the abandoned house on the other side of the vale after dark. So, even though it felt wrong to sneak out without telling them, Anna resolved to do just that.

Kenny and Sarah sat in their reading chairs by the light of their reading lamp in the quickly dimming twilight after dinner. Anna bid them goodnight and went upstairs. She got her book of poems, and sat on the balcony, facing the house across the vale. It was dark through the fog. She read poems by the light of the room. For nearly an hour, she waited. Eventually she heard Sarah and Kenny shuffling about downstairs before their bedroom door clicked closed. A moment later, a dim light from across the vale came on.

Heart in her throat, Anna closed her book and set it on the desk. She pulled on a clean pair of socks and picked up her borrowed shoes and tiptoed down the stairs. The sliding glass door opened noiselessly. She stepped onto the patio and pulled her shoes on. The fog wasn't cold, but was chilly enough she regretted the decision to make the trek in shorts and sleeveless shirt. She decided it was too late to go back and change.

Anna hurried as quickly as she dared down the hill and into the trees. It was difficult to see in the dark and the fog, but she made her way through the shadows and did her best to circumvent the bog. She managed to find only a few squishy spots before she was climbing the other hill. When she crested the rise, she found the house restored: paint fresh, courtyard clear, and Michaela's light on.

The windows were closed and Michaela was nowhere to be seen. Anna looked about for pebbles she might toss against the glass when the light in the entryway came on, spilling illumination across the courtyard. Anna shied back as the woman with iron-grey hair came into the room. Anna backed to the edge of the hilltop and knelt, hoping the fog would obscure her. The woman came to the front doors, made sure they were locked then turned and left, turning the light out behind her. A couple minutes later, the light in Michaela's room went out also.

Scrounging around in the dark for pebbles took longer than she'd hoped, but after a few minutes, Anna had a handful. Her first throw was well wide of the mark, bouncing off the brick wall. Her second, though, flew true and pinged off the glass, far louder than she'd expected. She crouched, certain she'd woken the whole of the valley. But after several heart-thumping moments, when no lights had turned on, when no uproar was caused, she selected another pebble and tossed it at the window. It pinged again, and again there was no response. Anna was beginning again to think she'd imagined it all and looked at the courtyard to remind herself there were no weeds growing between the flagstones, no grime on the windows. She selected another pebble and tossed it just as the window opened.

"Ouch," Michaela whispered.

Anna dropped her pebbles. "Sorry," she whispered back.

Michaela laughed quietly. Relieved, Anna brushed her hands on her shorts.

"Wait right there," Michaela said. "I'm coming down to see you."

"What?" Anna was excited to see Michaela again, but was nervous they'd be caught. The lady with iron-grey hair seemed nowhere near as understanding as Kenny and Sarah, and she feared one wrong squeak of a floorboard would wake her.

A few moments later, Michaela appeared at the window with a bundle of cloth and threw it out the window. It was a bunch of bedsheets tied together, like in the movies, dangling all the way to the ground. Michaela climbed through the window onto the sloped shingle roof and, using the bed sheets, climbed down the wall with a grace suggesting she'd done it before. Anna hurried to her as Michaela reached the ground, bare feet touching the flagstones without a sound, skirts of her nightdress settling around her ankles.

"That was impressive," Anna said.

Michaela shrugged. "It's a knack."

"She won't notice you're gone?"

"She never has before. But perhaps we should go somewhere we're less likely to be overheard." She took Anna's hand. "Come on, let's take a walk." She led Anna around behind the house where a garden stood. It hadn't been there when Anna had wandered the grounds that morning, it'd just been a bunch of overgrown plants. Now it was a carefully manicured lawn with stone benches and high bushes. Michaela lead Anna to the back of the garden and a little gazebo.

There, she turned to face Anna, eyes wide in the dark. "You came back."

"Yes. I'm sorry I ran away," Anna said. "I... she scared me."

"She scares me too," Michaela said.

"Is that Baba?"

Michaela nodded.

"Who—"

"Let's talk about something else." Michaela said curtly.

Anna was taken aback and she looked down and away. Michaela, still holding Anna's hand, walked to the gazebo bench, drawing Anna with her, and sat. Anna sat down next to her.

"I'm sorry, Vivianna. I shouldn't speak harshly to you. But I..."

"It's fine. We can talk about whatever you want to talk about."

Michaela smiled at her. "I have an idea. Did you ever have a teacher at the beginning of a new school year have everyone stand up and introduce themselves or play a sort of game to introduce everyone?"

Anna nodded uncomfortably. "I always hate those games."

Michaela cocked her head. "Why's that?"

"I don't like it when everyone stares at me. I get so flustered I can barely say my own name." Anna blushed.

"You're shy? How cute."

Anna blushed so hard tears welled in her eyes.

"I don't mean to embarrass you. I thought we might take turns answering questions. Perhaps just three?" She squeezed Anna's hand gently. "Please?"

"Three questions? I... I think I can do that."

"May I go first?"

Anna nodded.

"Okay. I... I hope you don't think I'm strange for asking, but I have to know... am I dreaming, or are you real?"

Anna laughed, relieved.

Michaela blushed and bit her lip nervously.

"I'm sorry. I... Yes. I'm real. At least, I'm fairly certain I'm real. But I came to your house this morning and..." she hesitated, searching Michaela's face. Though Michaela had asked the question, Anna couldn't help but wonder if she was being teased, if this was all an elaborate prank. "I came here this morning and you weren't here."

Michaela frowned. "I was here this morning."

Anna shook her head. "The house was abandoned. There was dust everywhere."

"That's not possible."

"But you said the house across the vale, where I'm staying with the Copelands, has been abandoned for a long time too."

"Hmm... Perhaps you're only real when the fog comes in," Michaela said.

"Or perhaps you are," Anna said.

Michaela laughed, filling the gazebo with her mirth. "Your turn to ask a question, Vivianna."

"Oh, right." Anna considered. She could only think of one question, but it made her blush just to think it. She cleared her throat nervously. "You called me a... a 'lovely illusion'."

Michaela released Anna's hand and put her hands firmly in her lap.

Anna bit her tongue. Michaela wouldn't meet her gaze.

"Um, do you really... No. Never mind."

"When I said that, the other day, I... I thought I was dreaming. I didn't mean to... I mean, you are pretty, obviously, but I... I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"You think I'm pretty?"

Michaela grinned at her. "My turn for a question."

Anna smiled.

"If you could have one wish, what would it be?" Michaela asked.

"To be normal," Anna said. Then she covered her mouth. She hadn't meant to say that. Something about Michaela pulled the honesty from her. But Michaela didn't laugh at her, and Anna looked up, carefully.

"It's okay. You don't have to be embarrassed," Michaela said. "Sometimes... sometimes I feel like there's a hole in my chest. A great, gaping hole sucking away everything. Light, happiness... friends." She still looked at Anna, but it was like she was staring into the cosmos. "But sometimes I feel like the hole is filled. When I play my guitar. When I look out at the moon. And..." she blinked and her gaze focused on Anna.

Anna blushed and looked away. "What about you, what would you wish for?" she asked brusquely.

Michaela sighed and stood. She twirled, the skirts of her nightgown flaring. "I would wish to be away from horrid Baba, to go anywhere, do anything, to go on adventures with my friends." She stopped, breathing hard, and looked at Anna through her springy hair. "Would you be my friend, Anna?"

"Are you sure you want that to be one of your questions?"

Michaela and nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"I would like that very much."

All around the gazebo, floating points of pale, yellow light eased into existence, like little globes, in the fog.

"What is that?" Anna said, wonder playing in her voice.

"Spirit lights," Michaela said, with a delighted little laugh.

"Spirits?"

"That's what my mother calls them. They're just fireflies but I like the name spirit lights better. Come on, I'll show you." She grabbed Anna's hand and led her from the gazebo into the garden. They walked out past the back of the garden toward the tree line. They walked amongst the floating lights and though Anna tried, she couldn't see the diminutive bugs.

"I thought we were too high up for fireflies," Anna said. "I don't know much about them, but I thought they didn't live in the mountains."

"We're not that high up," said Michaela, "Just the hills really."

"Oh."

They walked slowly around the backside of the gardens. Anna let Michaela lead her. They didn't say anything. Finally, as the fireflies moved on and the fog grew dim again, Michaela led her back around to the front side of the house, where her makeshift bedsheet rope still led to her open bedroom window.

"You know," said Michaela, "You still have a third question."

Anna nodded. "I know."

"Well, what is it?"

Anna took a breath. "I was wondering, would it be okay if I saw you again?"

"Of course it would," said Michaela. "How about tomorrow night?"

Anna considered. "What if there's no fog?"

"And the magic might only work if there's fog."

Anna laughed, uncertain what to make of talking about magic as though it were real.

"Well, if not tomorrow, then on the very next night there's fog," said Michaela, "I hope you'll come to see me."

"Count on it," said Anna.

She watched Michaela climb the wall, her bare feet braced against the brick, pulling herself up with surety and grace. Anna watched the girl clamber into the window and waited for her to turn and wave goodbye so she could wave in return before walking back through the fog-shrouded vale. 


	4. Spirited Away

Anna achieved a comfortable routine at Sarah and Kenny’s place. Every morning she would make breakfast or Kenny would. Afterward, she would do the dishes or Sarah would. After breakfast, Kenny went out back to work on any number of his woodworking projects, Sarah went to the garden or to her sewing room, leaving Anna to her own devices. That very next morning Anna went immediately across the vale to Michaela’s house, in the bright, summer morning sun, with not a hint of fog.

The house was as she expected: quiet, dusty, run down. She walked out back to the overgrown patch before the tree line. There were no stone benches, no careful bushes, and no gazebo.

And that, she decided, confirmed it. The fog was how the house changed, how she’d met Michaela, how the magic happened.

The Copelands didn’t expect her back for lunch, so she only showed up if she was hungry, which was rarely. She wandered about town or among the foothills with her shoulderbag, snatching bits of poetry from here and there. Violet had given her some money for the summer, so she drank tea at Coffee Courtyard, and she perused the art shops, and once she ran into Sarah at the fabric shop.

“I didn’t know you were interested in sewing,” Sarah said.

“I’m not, but the fabric is nice.”

Sarah laughed and gave her a lift back to the house for lunch.

She found those days aimless. She wrote poetry, and read in the library, and wandered Glenwood. But it was hard to focus on anything except the next time she could see Michaela. Clouds settled about the mountains of the valley frequently, but for an entire listless week, they did not come down into the valley.

“Are there fireflies in this area?” Anna asked into a quiet moment at dinner.

“Nah,” said Kenny. “The altitude is a bit much for them. Also, they tend to prefer damper climates. As I understand it anyway.”

Anna nodded. The conversation drifted on, but Anna stayed focused on the spirit lights that almost certainly weren’t fireflies. Where they spirits in truth? Was Kenny mistaken?

“Have you got everything ready for the booth tomorrow night?” Kenny asked.

Anna blinked at him, confused.

“Oh sure. Seven quilts packed and ready to go. How are the owls?”

“The owls?” said Anna.

“I’ve been carving decorative owls for the last few months to sell at the arts and music festival,” Kenny said. “You did know that’s this weekend, didn’t you?”

Anna shook her head.

“There’s flyers all up and down Clayfield Street,” he said. “Isn’t that where you’ve been spending a lot of time?”

Now he mentioned it, Anna had seen colorful flyers posted about. She hadn’t paid them much mind.

“They’ll close down Clayfield Street. There’ll be all sorts of booths, singing, dancing and whatnot,” Kenny said.

“It’s a great time,” Sarah said. “There’ll be lots of kids your age there, locals and tourists, if you’re interested.”

“Do I have to go?” Anna asked.

“Nah,” said Kenny. “You can stay home if you want.”

Anna considered. It wasn’t that she didn’t like people, it was just that she preferred to be by herself or someplace more quiet than a festival. On the other hand she’d spent all this week largely by herself. Not getting to see Michaela made her ache for friendship. Not that Sarah and Kenny weren’t friendly, but they were adults.

“I think I’d like to go,” Anna said.

**• • •**

She helped Kenny and Sarah haul boxes from the car to a booth on Clayfield Street. The woman running the booth, Mrs. Mary Walnut, greeted Anna kindly when Sarah introduced her.

“I think you’ve met my son, Francis.”

Anna frowned, she didn’t remember meeting a boy named Francis. Then she realized Mrs. Walnut meant Frank. “Oh. Yes. Him and Bertie.”

“Yes. He mentioned you. Said you had beautiful hair.”

“Oh,” said Anna, not knowing what to think of that.

A block down from the intersection, a large stage was being erected. After Anna finished helping Sarah and Kenny haul boxes, she wandered down to the intersection and watched. Folks with large work gloves put together scaffolding and lights and sound equipment. They moved with efficient confidence, avoiding collision with little communication.

“Hey, there she is,” said Bertie

Anna blinked and turned. She found Bertie and a pair of girls she hadn’t met yet.

“Wow,” said one of the girls. “You’re right, her hair is really red.”

“What kind of dye do you use?” asked the other girl

“Oh, she doesn’t,” said Bertie. “It’s that way normally.”

“Wow really?” said the girl. “It’s so… vivid.”

“I know, right?” said Bertie “I told you.”

Anna felt certain she wasn’t needed for the conversation but she also knew it would be rude to walk away, so she clasped her hands behind her back and nodded.

“Anyway, are you staying for the festival?” Bertie asked.

Anna waited a moment to make sure someone else wasn’t jumping in before she said, “Yeah, I think so. Kenny and Sarah have a booth with Mrs. Walnut.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic,” said one of the girls. “There’s going to be dancing and food and some of the boys around here are actually kind of cute.”

“Are there cute boys where you come from, Anna?” asked the other girl.

“Oh, um…”

“I’ll bet there are,” said the other girl. “All the cutest boys come from the city.”

The girls giggled.

Anna shrugged.

“Come on. I hear Sweet Stuff is giving out free samples,” said Bertie.

She and the two girls turned to walk off, then Bertie stopped and looked back. “Anna, are you coming?”

“Sure,” said Anna, at once grateful to be included and uncertain she wanted to participate. The other girls chatted up a storm and she followed in their wake. They made their way a block and a half to Sweet Stuff, a candy store, where a woman with long hair and wide hips passed out yellow brown candies in wax paper. Anna took one, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. It tasted of honey and cinnamon and melted slowly on her tongue.

“Good, right?” said Bertie around her candy.

Anna nodded.

“So, like, what’s your story? How long are you staying?” Bertie asked.

“Are you moving here?” asked one of the girls.

Anna shook her head. “Just for the summer. I have asthma and the city air isn’t good for me. That’s what the doctor says.”

“You’re sick?” asked one of the girls.

“I’m fine,” said Anna. “I just have to…”

“I have a cousin who has asthma,” said Bertie. “She has in inhaler and can’t run.”

“You can’t run?” said the other girl.

Anna shook her head. “I can. I just…”

“Besides, the air here is way cleaner,” said Bertie. “That’s probably all you need. Just stay here for the summer.”

“Right,” said Anna quietly even as the three of them chatted on, their conversation moving to whether any of the boys would be interesting tonight.

“I’ll bet Frankie is all dressed up tonight,” said one of the girls.

“I don’t know why he’d bother,” said Bertie.

“I’m sure he’s got _someone_ to dress up for,” said the other.

Bertie frowned.

“Oh, come on, I’m just teasing,” said the girl.

Bertie shot a dirty look Anna’s way. The other girls noticed.

“Oooh. Has he got his eye on someone else these days?” She winked at Anna.

Anna blinked. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

The girls giggled and Bertie crossed her arms firmly. “You don’t have to act dumb.”

“I’m not acting,” said Anna.

“Oh, Anna, you have such pretty, red hair,” said Bertie, her tone high and mocking.

Anna clasped her hands behind her back and held on hard. “Um, I don’t know…”

“Oh please, it’s obvious. He thinks you’re cuter than me.”

Anna blushed and shook her head. “No. That can’t be.”

“Whatever,” said Bertie. “I’m gonna go see if the music’s starting.” She hurried away, the other girls following.

Anna took a deep breath. It was easier here than at home and she’d gotten used to it, letting it focus her thoughts. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” she said to no one in particular. She looked up at the mountains in the deepening twilight. She saw clouds gathering, pushing those below them to pour down the slopes. Soon they would settle in the valley.

“The fog,” she whispered, remembering her promise.

She went the other way down Clayfield Street toward the river, the hills, and Michaela’s house. She waved at Kenny as she passed Mrs. Walnut’s booth. He was busy showing off a carved owl to a customer.

The streets were filling with people, none of whom were interested in her, so she broke into a trot, mindful of her breath. As she approached the river, the fog became noticeable, damp around her ankles and a haze all around. She hurried over the bridge and was nearly to the turn when she saw a shadow in the fog.

Michaela emerged from the pale grey haze clad in a purple dress over a collared white shirt. A scuffed black guitar case was slung on her back.

“Michaela?”

“Vivianna!” Michaela hurried down the road to Anna, smile wide. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find you.”

“The fog just came in,” said Anna. “I was coming to see you.”

Michaela nodded. “I went to the house on the other side of the vale, but no one was there, so I… It’s lucky we met each other.”

“I’m glad you came. Does… does Baba know you’re here?”

Michaela shrugged flippantly. “Nope. She thinks I’m tucked up in bed, sound asleep, far from the corrupting influence of the festival.”

Anna gave a skeptical look. “Corrupting?”

Michaela laughed.

“So, what do you want to do? We could…” Anna thought about her failed conversation with Bertie, then shook her head.

“You don’t want to go to the festival?” Michaela asked.

“Well, it’s not that I don’t want to go, but it’s loud and bright and there’s lots of people and it’s just not really my thing.”

“Hmm.” Michaela twisted gently, considering. “Well, how about this. Come with me to the festival. I’ll stay with you the whole time and if it gets to be too much, I’ll walk you home.” She held out her hand.

Anna blushed. But she had to admit, the thought to returning to the festival with Michaela made it feel less overwhelming. She thought she could handle snide remarks, accidental insults, and dirty looks with Michaela by her side.

“Okay.”

She took Michaela’s hand and they faced the bridge together.

In the thick fog around them, spirit lights faded into existence. Anna remembered what Kenny had said about the altitude and fireflies, but she didn’t say anything. A summer-warm breeze came from behind, a gentle push on their backs, ruffling Anna’s hair, setting Michaela’s to swaying, and tossing tendrils of fog ahead of them.

They walked across the bridge and Anna felt a tingle across her shoulders and down her spine. She had the wild idea she needed to hold her breath to avoid breaking the spell. As they crossed, the fog lifted, but there was still a distinct haze: lights had a fuzzy aura, isty eddies swirled about their ankles, but otherwise Clayfield Street was sharp and clear and bright.

As they stepped off the bridge onto Clayfield Street, Anna looked around in wonder tinged with concerned. The street seemed narrower, the paint brighter. She recognized Sweet Stuff and Foothills Books and Vendors Emporium, but it all seemed a little different. The lights were candleflame gold rather than electric white. The air held a hint of sweet smoke. The people wore bright colors in strange fashions: long-sleeved gowns and gaudy rings, tall hats and patterned vests, long-tailed coats and brass buttons. They put Anna in mind of a colorful, fancy costume party. Neither Kenny nor Sarah had mentioned anything about costumes.

Anna looked at Michaela, wondering if the other girl was as confused as she was.

“It’s all so… bright, isn’t it?” Michaela said.

Music filled the streets. At the first corner was a three-person band: a young man sang of love and strummed a guitar, a woman behind him played a mournful saxophone, another a standup bass. A small group had gathered to listen, drinking from tankards, puffing on pipes, eating from platters of crumbly cheese and cured meat, delicate pastries and icinged cakes, toasted crackers and dollops of jelly.

“Oh, I’m starved,” said Michaela. “Let’s get something to eat.”

Anna wasn’t especially hungry, but she nodded anyway. She let Michaela drag her to a booth with a red and white striped awning where she ordered two bags of kettle corn and paid the woman behind the counter with a couple of bills.

Michaela immediately ate a handful. Anna tried just one. It was like popcorn, but faintly sweet and subtly salty. She decided she liked it.

They wandered down the street, hand in hand, perusing booths selling homemade knickknacks and used books and snacks of all kinds. Anna tried to find Sarah and Kenny’s booth, she wanted to introduce them to Michaela, but though she was fairly certain she remembered the approximate location, she couldn’t find them.

They lingered to listen to musicians. A man with long, wild hair and an accordion sang of pointed satire; a woman with long braids sang of three little birds; a scruffy bald man strummed a guitar with gentle aimlessness.

They wandered all the way down Clayfield Street to where the fog grew thick again, curving like the back of a smooth cave, and the lights of the festival trailed off. Michaela turned to walk back, but Anna paused. She recognized the post office on her left. It was dark and quiet and didn’t match the bright festivity. The gas station should have been just a little further off in the fog, and the train station should have been prominently on her right, but she could see neither. Not only was the fog thicker here, but no lights, spirit or otherwise, shone through.

Just beyond the post office, closer than she remembered, was the scarecrow, Old King, hanging upon his post in the dark and the fog, sackcloth face sagging, black button eyes dim, but his clothes were fine and new.

“Vivianna, are you all right?”

“There’s something strange.”

“About me?” Michaela asked, tone concerned.

“No. About…” she gestured around herself.

“About the fog.”

“Yes.”

“I have to tell you something, Vivianna. I went to the house across the vale this morning, when there was no fog. There was no one there. It’s abandoned.”

“Yes,” said Anna. “I did the same. There’s no one living at your house. No one’s lived there in decades.”

“So you were right. It’s the fog that does it. The way people are dressed here, the colors, the music, everything’s so vivid.”

“Are we dreaming?” Anna asked.

Michaela shrugged. “I hardly ever remember my dreams and I remember everything about you. But… maybe? Memory can be tricky.”

Anna nodded. “I remember my mother.” She bit her tongue on the spontaneous sentence. Violet had raised her and the vague memories of another woman were uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Anna continued. “But only sort of. She had red hair, like me. But much paler skin. Except, sometimes I wonder if I remember her at all or if I just made her up. We don’t have any pictures.” Anna blushed. “Anyway, I tend to remember poems and stories best.”

“Well then,” said Michaela. “Let’s make sure our story is worth remembering.”

Michaela took Anna’s hand. Anna took once last glance at Old King, the effigy of Ali Clayfield, founder of Glenwood, hanging alone in the dark and the fog. It was just a scarecrow, but she couldn’t help feeling bad for him.

They made their way to the main stage in the center of Clayfield Street, threading through the crowd, past colorful booths and fog-choked side streets. All manner of chairs crowded the intersection, long tables were arranged haphazardly. Folk danced in the space between furniture and stage. Upon the stage stood a fresh-faced blond in a black leather jacket singing of upbeat defiance against ambiguous oppression.

Michaela found a pair of plain wooden chairs off to the side a bit but near the dancing. She slung her guitar case off her back and set it on her knees so she could sit. Anna sat next to her.

“This is so exciting. I’ve never been to a live concert before,” said Michaela.

“Me neither.”

With all the people and noise and dancing, Anna should have felt uncomfortable. This was precisely the kind of thing that made her want to go home and read by quiet lamplight. But she felt comfortable with Michaela at her side. She felt at ease.

A boy in a white vest, with straight blond hair in a page-boy cut, stopped in front of them and proffered a tray carrying stemmed, fluted glasses filled with a pale gold drink bubbling gently.

“Thank you very much,” said Michaela, taking two and passing one to Anna. The boy nodded and smiled and moved on.

Anna sniffed at her drink, it smell vaguely sweet but otherwise unlike anything she was familiar with. “What is it?”

Michaela took a sip. “Champagne, I think.”

“I’ve never had champagne.”

“Me neither.”

“So, what do you think?”

Michaela took another sip. “I think I could learn to like it.”

“But what if we get caught?” asked Anna.

“We won’t make memories being cautious.”

Anna grinned shyly, sniffed the drink again, then took a sip of her own. It tasted faintly sweet and faintly tangy and faintly something she couldn’t identify. The bubbles fizzed in her throat. It wasn’t unpleasant but it was definitely different.

She held her glass out to Michaela. “To memories?”

Michaela clinked her glass against Anna’s. “To memories.”

They sipped their glasses of champagne. Anna tapped her foot to the music. The next several moments were a dizzying delight of sound and color, light and motion, warmth and rhythm. After another couple songs, Michaela finished her champagne, set her glass on the arm of her chair and stood. She turned to face Anna and held out a hand.

Anna looked up at her. Michaela’s long, curly hair fell over her shoulders carelessly. Her white-collared shirt under her dark purple dress gave her a regal bearing. Her brown eyes shone, almost red, in the golden light of the festival.

“Will you dance with me?” Michaela asked

Anna blushed and looked away. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“That’s okay. I can show you.”

Anna had never been asked to dance. “I’m not sure I can.”

“All you have to do is follow my lead.”

Anna lifted her head, blushing furiously. “What if I’m awful at it and everyone looks at us and…”

Michaela laughed gently. “Just keep your eyes on me, ignore everyone else, and it won’t matter what they think.”

Anna looked at her hands in her lap, one of which clutched half a glass of champagne. Before she could think better of it, Anna drank the champagne in two quick swallows, and set the glass upon the arm of the chair. She took Michaela’s hand and let the other girl pull her to her feet and lead her to the edge of the dancing crowd. Michaela took Anna’s right hand and put it on her shoulder, the purple fabric was smooth under her touch, then put her left hand on Anna’s waist. Michaela clasped Anna’s left hand in her right.

The band started another song, big and raucous.

“This one’s in four,” Michaela said, nodding in time to the beat. “We’ll start slow. Left, left. Right, right.” She pushed on Anna’s waist. “Left, left,” then back the other way. “Right, right. Just count with the beat. One, two, three, four. Left, left; right, right.”

Despite Michaela’s reassurance, Anna felt hopeless and awkward and certain she’d never be anything better than passable at dancing, but she moved as Michaela directed, at least managing the rhythm, letting Michaela lead her amongst the dancers. Her thoughts dizzy, her cheeks flushed, her gaze firmly on Michaela’s. And, though she was embarrassed, she enjoyed herself.

For the length of two songs, Michaela and Anna danced. Anna grew warm with the exertion and sweat beaded at her forehead. On the third song, the band played something slower. Anna swallowed and tried to catch her breath. They slowed their dance to a gentle sway. Michaela moved in close so they almost touched, making it easier to look over each other’s shoulder than into each other’s eyes.

“Can I tell you something?” Michaela asked.

Anna swallowed hard and nodded. “Sure.”

“It’s about my grandmother. She’s wonderful and I love her dearly. She raised me until I was about ten years old. I mean, my parents are around sometimes, but my mother’s business takes them away on long trips and I hardly ever see them. But it was okay because I had Grandma Lulu. Then she got sick. She’s been in a care facility for four years now. I visit her when I can, but after Grandma Lulu fell ill, my parents hired Baba. Baba doesn’t like it when I visit Grandma Lulu. She thinks Grandma Lulu is a witch.”

“Do your parents know how awful she is?” Anna asked.

Michaela squeezed Anna’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Anna said. “I didn’t mean to…” she pulled back to look at Michaela’s face, but Michaela looked away. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean—“

“No. You’re right. Baba is awful. But I shouldn’t complain. I have so many nice things. Everything I need is taken care of by mother’s money. I just… I wish she weren’t such a bully.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Michaela laughed. “You’re doing it right now.”

“You mean, dance badly?”

“Yes. And share a glass of champagne, and come to the festival, and… and be my friend.”

When the song ended, Anna said she was tired and they returned to their seats, where Michaela pulled her guitar case back over her shoulder.

“How about some dinner?” Michaela asked.

“I don’t have much money.”

“My treat.”

Michaela found them a restaurant called the Golden Bridge, name stenciled in gold paint upon the window. A sign hung above the door bearing a stylized golden bridge. Inside, it was crowded. Folks stood shoulder to shoulder at a bar on the far end. The mismatched tables were packed. A stage stood in one corner, giving a man enough height to see over the crowd as he sang, but not enough volume to sing over their conversation. A haze of pipe smoke hung at ceiling level, as though the fog had followed them in.

“Um, I’m not sure about this place,” Anna said.

“I think I see a free table,” Michaela replied. She squeezed Anna’s hand. “Come on.”

Despite herself, Anna let Michaela lead her thorough the crowd, wending between patrons and staff until they came upon a small square table against the wall, not far from the stage, a pair of chairs facing each other.

Anna sat, grateful to be against the wall so she wasn’t surrounded by the crowd. Michaela sat across from her and tucked her guitar under her chair.

“Will this be all right?” Michaela asked, raising her voice above the crowd.

Anna bit her lip but nodded.

After a few minutes of being unable to flag down a server, all of whom were in black tuxedos and bow ties, Michaela pushed to her feet. “I’m gonna go to the bar to get us some food. Will you be okay without me?”

“For a while,” Anna said.

Michaela grinned at her before she disappeared boldly into the crowd.

Anna let the conversations around her fill the space.

“Have you heard? The prince has gone missing.”

“I heard he took off to marry that girl.”

“I heard he was ensnared by the Witch of Puppets.

“The Witch of Money is frantic. Word is she’s sent a summons to all wizards in the region. Calling in favors.”

“There’ll be war. I’m certain of it.”

“They’re phoning the sky pirates.”

“No. Witch Sabina hates the sky pirates.”

“The prince’s step-brother’s refusing to help.”

“I hear the Witch of Puppets is on the prowl, skulking through fog, taking out wizards who won’t join her up in the wastes.”

“Well I hear…”

A newspaper landed in front of Anna. She blinked up at the man who’d tossed it carelessly upon her table, a rebuke upon her tongue, but he was already out the door. She looked at the paper. A giant scarlet headline screamed at her:

**Prince Missing! Witch Sabina Furious!**

**Minister of War Calls on Volunteers**

“What is going on?” Anna whispered. She looked around for Michaela. This bright place, almost real, almost what she remembered, had been a lark. Dancing and drinking and wandering the festival had been fun. But talk of war between witches, people kidnapped, wasn’t fun or charming or exciting. Anna wanted to leave, but she wouldn’t go without Michaela.

Michaela reappeared suddenly, grin wide. Before Anna could tell her about what she’d overheard or show her the headline, the other girl pulled her guitar from under her chair.

“I’ve got us dinner, but I’ve still got to pay for it.”

“Oh. Um. Michaela, I don’t…”

“Be right back.”

Anna bit her tongue on her frustration as Michaela pushed her way to the stage.

The man who’d stood there when they’d entered was gone. Michaela opened her guitar case and withdrew her guitar. It had a deep, brown finish, almost purple, to compliment her dress. She sat upon a stool and balanced the guitar upon one knee. Lights were trained upon the stage and they made Michaela glow. She strummed at her guitar, tuned it, then strummed again. Anna couldn’t hear her over the crowd. Michaela turned a few more pegs, strummed again, and her fingers danced over the strings. Though Anna couldn’t hear her, she knew the girl was playing a scale, then another. When she was done Michaela slapped her hand against the strings. An echoing thump reached her ears.

Those close to the stage took notice. Some payed attention, others turned back to their conversation.

Michaela began to play. The fingers of her left hand slid about the neck of the guitar while those of her right danced upon the strings, strumming a pattern. As more of the crowd took notice and quieted, it became easier for Anna to hear. A quick strumming beat, a bit folksy, a bit rock, as Anna reckoned music. Chords sung over the crowd as more and more quieted to listen.

Michaela ran through the melody, ran through it again, then stopped with another echoing slap at the strings. Carefully, slowly at first, she picked out the melody again, this time without the overlaying chords, and it sounded faintly familiar. When the melody came around, Michaela sang.

_I’ve just seen a face_

_I can’t forget the time or place_

_Where we first met_

_She’s just the one for me_

_And I want all the world to see_

_We’ve met_

Anna knew it, of course. It was a famous poem. But she’d never heard it put to music before. Michaela’s singing was as powerful as her guitar playing, intricate and precise, it soared over the room, gathered interest, commanded attention. The whole of the crowd focused on the song, some nodding along, some tapping toes.

But Anna didn’t notice. All she could focus on was Michaela.

When the song was done, the crowd applauded. Michaela beamed, throwing her gaze across the crowd. When her eyes met Anna’s, she winked. Anna blushed

“Are you to whom she sings?”

Anna, distracted, looked at a man with bright blond hair and grey blue eyes. He wore a coat of varicolored patches over a crisp black shirt and slacks. He held a pair of dishes, which he set upon the table.

“What? No. Of course not.”

The man shrugged with his eyebrows. “If you say so.”

Anna felt irritation rise along her spine. “Do you need something? I don’t appreciate being accosted by strangers.”

“I have a pair of requests,” the man said, sitting in the chair opposite her.

Anna scooched back from the table, skin prickling, prepared to fight or fly.

“Everything here is traded for, sometimes money, but often not. I would like to paint your portrait.”

“What? No. Me? Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful. You and your paramour both. In exchange, I have brought your dinner.” He gestured at the plates he’d set upon the table.

Anna looked at the plates of food. On the first: two strips of steak, medium rare, lay upon a bed of mashed potatoes and stewed carrots and garlic. A pool of brown gravy simmered in the bottom. On the second: a breaded chicken breast wrapped in bacon with thick pieces of asparagus, a mound of wild rice, and a white sauce drizzled over it.

“Michaela said she took care of this. Not you.”

The man smiled, but it felt false. “But I did deliver it.”

“If you wanted to bargain, you should have held the food until I agreed.”

The man’s smile turned to a genuine grin. “Perhaps I could borrow your newspaper then?”

On stage, Michaela plucked a few strings, and sang again.

_Hello darkness, my old friend_

_I’ve come to talk with you again_

_Because a vision softly creeping_

_Left its seeds while I was sleeping_

_And the vision that was planted in my brain_

_Still remains_

_Within the sound_

_Of silence_

“She really does have an amazing voice,” the man said.

“She does,” Anna said. “And you’re sitting in her seat.” She handed over the newspaper.

The man took it and stood before bowing, graceful. “And your permission to paint your portrait?”

Anna shook her head. “Not a chance.”

He sighed, melodramatically. “I may have been too forward. My apologies, miss. Until next time.”

He disappeared into the crowd as Michaela finished her second song. The crowd applauded and Anna returned her attention to the stage. Michaela put her guitar away even as the crowd called for more. She locked her guitar case and slung it on her back before saying, “I’ve paid for my dinner. I’d like to enjoy it now. Perhaps you’ll have me back sometime.”

The crowd applauded as she left the stage.

The murmur of conversation rose again as Michaela threaded her way back to her chair.

“Oh good, food’s here,” she said as she tucked her guitar under her chair.

“Michaela, I think we should go,” Anna said, standing.

“What? But, I’m famished.”

“There’s something strange about this place. I don’t think we’re… I think we’re somewhere else. Somewhere dangerous. There’s a missing prince and rumor of war…”

“Vivianna, relax.” Michaela gestured for Anna to sit.

Anna bit her tongue and sat.

“I’ve been hearing some strange things too, something about feuding witches, and I agree it’s all very strange and possibly a bit dangerous, but right now we’re just having dinner. Please, sit with me a while longer? I don’t know when I’ll see you next and I don’t want you to go just yet.”

Anna took several moments to consider. When she was with Michaela, even rumor of war didn’t feel too scary.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Michaela said. “Do you want the steak or the chicken?”

Despite the man with blond hair and the rumor of war, Anna couldn’t escape the delectable smell of food. “I was hoping for some of each.”

“Half and then switch?”

Anna nodded. She started with the bacon-wrapped chicken, asparagus, and buttered rice. The chicken was crispy and moist, the bacon smoky, the asparagus tender. A woman in a tuxedo placed a pair of champagne glassed upon their table without prompting. Anna looked at them, then at Michaela.

“I heard about this,” Michaela said. “The Witch of Money controls this town. She has a big bathhouse on Clayfield Street. This festival is meant to raise the morale of the citizens since the disappearance of the prince. The champagne is gold because she’s the Witch of Money.

Anna shook her head. “We must be dreaming.”

“You think it’s possible to share a dream?”

“It’s at least as possible as feuding witches.”

Michaela picked up her champagne glass. “I will drink to that.”

Anna giggled, picking up hers. They clinked their glasses. Anna only took a sip. She wasn’t sure how the first glass had affected her, but she was certain a second would be too much. To her relief, Michaela did the same.

They ate half their entrees then swapped plates.

“So who was that boy you were talking to?” Michaela asked.

“What?”

“Wearing the bright jacket.”

“Oh him,” said Anna. “He delivered our dinner in hopes of exchanging that service for a newspaper and a painting.”

Michaela quirked an eyebrow at her. “What?”

Anna shrugged. “He thought I’d let him paint our portraits.”

Michaela laughed. “This place is strange.”

“Good mashed potatoes though.”

“He was very handsome,” Michaela said, an odd tone to her voice.

Anna studied Michaela’s face, trying to determine if she was meant to pick up on some subtlety, but Michaela kept her gaze on her food.

“Was he?”

Michaela laughed. “So it’s not love at first sight for you, huh?”

Anna snorted. “I don’t believe in love at first sight. Not at my age anyway. I’m only fourteen. If I ever do get married, it’ll probably be to someone I meet a decade from now, if not more.”

“Oh,” said Michaela.

For a moment, Anna was afraid she’d offended her, though she wasn’t sure how.

“Was I too blunt?” said Anna. “I don’t always realize when I’m being rude.”

Michaela chewed thoughtfully, then said, “Vivianna, I appreciate your bluntness. I don’t want you to feel you can’t be truthful with me.”

Anna considered. “Do _you_ believe in love at first sight?”

“Oh yes. I have it on good authority. My mother knew the moment she saw him, that she’d marry my father. They were at someone else’s wedding. My father was a friend of a friend of the groom, my mother a coworker of the bride. They were seated together near the back of the reception hall. She says he was charming, kind, and just a little bit shy. It took a while for her to convince him, but she knew right away.”

“That’s sweet,” said Anna. “My… Violet, the woman who raised me. She met her husband, though a family friend. They knew each other for three years before he finally asked her out on a date. Two months later they were married. They never had children of their own…”

“Are you adopted?” Michaela asked, tone soft.

Anna shook her head. “Foster kid. They were going to adopt me, at least I think so, but then Arthur got cancer. He died a few years ago.”

“Vivianna, I’m so sorry.”

“It was really hard on Violet.”

They finished their dinners in the silence of a busy, bustling, boisterous room.

Michaela stood, slinging her guitar case on her back. “May I walk you home, Ms. Vivianna?”

Anna stood. She hooked her arm around Michaela’s “You may.”

Michaela picked up her champagne glass, so Anna picked up hers. They left the crowded restaurant onto the still-teeming streets of the festival. They wended their way through the crowd, making their way to the bridge, the fog growing thicker the closer they got.

They were a block and a half away from the bridge, where spirit lights danced lazily, when the fog filling a side-street before them suddenly billowed into the main thoroughfare as though being pressed upon from the outside. Michaela and Anna stuttered to a stop, as did the festival-goes about them, startled by the sudden development. Then, like the popping of a soap bubble, the fog burst and a horde of dolls clambered onto the street.

They were varying and mismatched, button-eyed and stiff-limbed, cherub-cheeked and brightly dressed. Baby dolls in frilly frocks and rosy cheeks, plushy bears with shiny fur and stumpy legs, wooden marionettes with vacant expressions and clacking joints rushed the revelers like a toy box spilled down the stairs. Though none of them was more than a foot or so tall, they upset carts and knocked down awnings, turned over tables and scattered merchandise, spilled food and took down people.

“Inside,” Anna whispered.

She pulled Michaela to the closest door. But as she did so, she shouldered past a man in a long, dark coat with a broad-brimmed hat low over his face. She stumbled and he fell and though the door was within reach, Anna stopped and turned. He sat hard, one hand on the sidewalk to brace himself. Anna pulled out of Michaela’s grip to reach out to him. He looked up at her, but his face was hidden by the shadow of his hat. He was slow to react and the dolls were nearly upon them, so Anna grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet.

“Watch out!” Michaela stepped past them, guitar case by the handle, and swung it with a broad sweep that cast aside a stuffed bear, tossing it over the panicking crowd. She swung again and a baby-doll with bottle-green eyes thumped into the side of the building. On her third, a warrior with an oversized plastic sword lost his head and stumbled back.

Anna hurried the man in the long coat to the door, jerked it open and thrust him inside.

“Michaela, come on!”

Michaela backed to the door, guitar case at the ready. Anna held the door for several more seeking escape; Michaela warded off the dolls. When there were no others hurrying to the door, Michaela entered and Anna closed the door, throwing the bolt.

“My hero,” Anna said.

Michaela blushed. “What about you, saving old men from the lifeless hordes. I could only hope to be so courageous.”

From the safety of the shop, the crowd peered through the window at the dolls wreaking havoc in the street.

“What’s this?” someone demanded from further in. “What do you think you’re doing piling in here like this?” Anna didn’t turn to look, but she could easily imagine the irate man’s look of surprise as he noticed the dolls filling Clayfield Street.

“The Witch of Puppets,” someone whispered.

“A first offensive.”

“This’ll mean war.”

Another minute on, and the last of the animated toys bounced down the street, leaving destroyed festivities in their wake.

“Do you think it’s safe?” someone asked.

No one replied.

Anna looked at Michaela. “We could make for the bridge.”

Michaela nodded.

Anna twisted the deadbolt.

“Wait, don’t.” someone said, a woman in a green dress, her carefully done hair askew. “They’ll get in.”

“Lock it behind us,” Anna said. She opened the door enough for Michaela to squeeze past, then followed. The door was slammed shut behind them and the lock slid into place a moment later.

Anna peered down the street after the animate toys. They still swarmed over the festival. Screams echoed down the street. The sound of destruction clattered off the fog. The other way, toward the bridge, was silent.

Michaela took Anna’s hand. “Let’s go?”

“Yeah.”

She sped through the haphazard lighting of the sacked festival booths and toward the drifting spirit lights about the bridge. The moment her feet hit the bridge, Anna felt a tingle at her shoulders and knew they were leaving that strange, alternate place behind. They slowed, breathing hard, and stopped at the middle of the bridge.

“I have a suggestion,” Michaela said between breaths. “Next time the fog comes in, let’s not go into town.”

Anna laughed. “You’ve had enough of magical toys?”

Michaela smiled at her, dark eyes shining. “I think a nice hike along the river would be better. A picnic perhaps.”

“Sounds delightful.”

They walked across the bridge and took the first right, up the hill. The fog thinned gently, making way. They didn’t speak, absorbed in their own thoughts. It couldn’t be real, of course, Anna told herself. It was imagination run rampant. But Michaela had seen it too. The fog was key. The fog had brought them together and now it had taken them somewhere impossible.

“Do you suppose there’s a purpose to the fog?” Anna asked. “Is there something we’re supposed to do, or is it just mystical happenstance?”

Several paces on, when Michaela didn’t respond, Anna looked at her, but Michaela was gone. Anna looked all around and found the fog had cleared. It lingered at the river, but even there it had fallen thin.


	5. Walking Cottage

The real world was dull by comparison.

Not only because she missed Michaela, but because she’d never felt excitement like she had that night. And she hadn’t coughed once. Her breath hadn’t caught. The very next morning, before breakfast, a faint haze of fog veiled the space between her balcony and Michaela’s bedroom window. When she woke, Anna peered through the haze in the predawn, and saw the glow of a light in that window. But by the time she hurried through the vale, skirting the bog, the fog had lifted and the house was abandoned.

She trudged back across the vale, defeated. The smell of toast and coffee buoyed her however, and she returned just in time for breakfast.

“Did you enjoy the festival?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah.” Between the dancing, dinner, and danger, it’d been an exciting night, though she didn’t elaborate.

“One of your friends came by looking for you,” said Sarah. “Cheryl’s daughter. Oh, what’s her name, Bertha I think?”

“Bertie was looking for me? What did she want?”

“She didn’t say. I take it she didn’t find you then?”

Anna shook her head. She wondered what it took for her to cross to that other place, so much like Glenwood and yet not at all. She wondered if anyone else could cross that threshold.

She spent all that day at the Copeland’s, determined should the fog roll in she was ready to hurry across the vale, but there was no fog that day, or the next. After lunch the second day, Anna made her way to town, shoulderbag filled with notebooks and pencils. She listed every shop along Clayfield Street from just after the bridge to the train station. She crossed the street to the post office, sparing a look for Old King where he hung, dusty and quiet upon his post, and giving him a nod. Then walked back the other way, noting each shop meticulously. The Golden Bridge, where she and Michaela had eaten dinner, was not one of them, Vendors Emporium, where they’d taken refuge from the marauding toys, was.

“Interesting,” she murmured.

The store was open, so she went in. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the actual store the night of the festival. It was crowded with all manner of stuff. Shelves and cabinets were arranged into cubbies along either wall, all the way to the back. Each cubby seemed to have a loose theme. One was filled with vintage lunch boxes, toy cap guns, and fast food toys. One was stacked with plates and mugs in bright colors. One was crammed with paper backs of varying genres, age, and condition.

“Hello there. Can I help you find something?”

In the center of the shop a set of display counters had been set up to create a space in the center for the proprietor. He sat upon a stool. He had thinning black hair and a wry smile. Anna hadn’t gotten a look at the proprietor of Vendors Emporium the night of the festival, though she had heard his voice. This one seemed familiar.

“Just looking around,” said Anna. “Did you enjoy the festival the other night?” She tried to sound casual, not at all like she was fishing for information on alternate realities, magical fogs, or metaphysical whatnots.

“Oh, sure, always enjoy the festivals. Brings in a lot of customers.”

“Yeah. That’s good. Um… I’m actually looking for someone I met that night. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but he was wearing a distinctive, long, black coat and a large, floppy hat.”

“I don’t remember anyone like that, but we get lots of tourists through for the festivals. Are you sure he was wearing a coat? It was a warm evening.”

Anna nodded, though he was right. The coat and hat seemed incongruous.

“Anything else you can tell me about him?”

Anna bit her lip, considering how much to say and just how to say it.

“We were in this store when there was a bit of a… ruckus, out on the street. And we all came to the window to look.”

“A ruckus?” The man frowned. “I don’t remember any ruckus.”

Anna nodded. “Thanks for your time. You have an interesting shop.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

Anna made her way back outside, squinting at the brightness of the summer sun. If the man behind the counter remembered the festival but not the ruckus, that suggested the shop was there but the man wasn’t. She wondered by what rules the fog magic played. Who and what made it to the alternate version of Glenwood and why? For that matter, were there rules? Was there consistency? Or might, the next time the fog came in, she end up somewhere else entirely?

**• • •**

Anna woke with a start to the palest of grey light. She hurried to the balcony and found the vale filled with fog, like a grassy bowl filled to its brim with a deep grey soup. She got dressed, pulled on her shoulderbag, and hurried down the stairs.

“Going out before breakfast?” Kenny asked from the kitchen. He’d only just gotten the coffee brewing.

“Yeah,” Anna said breathlessly. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Oh. Sure thing, kiddo. Write well.”

Walking down the hill into the fog sent a shiver along her shoulders and a veil over her vision. But when she reached its basin, the fog thinned, like a thick cap sitting atop the small vale. The trees at the center dripped with condensation and the grass was damp and slick. Anna wended through the trees carefully, wary of shoe-sucking muck.

She found Michaela standing at the edge of the bog, peering through the trees. She wore a dark green dress that fell just below her knees, a t-shirt, a pair of sturdy hiking boots. Her mass of auburn curls was tied back with a purple scarf. Her guitar case was slung on her back, a backpack hung from one hand.

“Michaela?”

Michaela looked up and smiled. “Vivianna. The first time I walked across to your house, I went straight through the trees and lost a shoe in the mud. I thought I might find it in the fog.”

Anna laughed. “If you do, see if you can find mine.”

Michaela laughed and hefted the backpack. “Ready for a picnic?”

“Is that what you have in there? I… I didn’t bring anything.”

“It’s fine,” said Michaela. “I’ve got everything we need.”

“Well, at least let me carry it.”

“That’s the plan,” said Michaela, holding it out to her.

Anna put on the backpack, and they climbed through the fog, out of the vale, and found themselves upon the switchbacks down the hill. Anna blinked, confused, and looked up the hill. She could make out the shadow of a house in the fog, but she couldn’t tell which it was.

“How does that work?” Anna said.

“What’s that?” Michaela looked the same way

“Is that your house or mine?” Anna elaborated. “I wonder if the way the… the magic works is consistent.”

Michaela turned to look down the hill. “I’ve wondered myself. I’ve thought about asking, what’s the name of your hometown, what’s the name of place you’re staying, what’s the address.”

Anna was about to speak, but Michaela hurried on.

“But what if that breaks the spell? We don’t know how this works, any of it. We only know that it does. In some stories, the rules are fickle and if we change a variable, that might change everything. I don’t think I could stand to not see you again.”

Anna felt her throat tighten and she took a careful breath to make sure she didn’t start coughing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound so… needy. It’s just, you’re the first friend I’ve had in a long time. Baba doesn’t allow me to see the friends I had when I was younger. I don’t know if they even remember me.”

Anna turned away from the house, down the hill. “All right then.” She held her arm out to Michaela. “To the picnic?”

“To the picnic.” Michaela hooked her arm through Anna’s and they made their way down the switchbacks. Rather than cross the bridge into the fog-shrouded town, they turned off the road well before the bridge and made their way to the riverbank. A hand carved sign proclaimed Okagawa River Trail Head. The trail wandered its way along the river, narrowing so they couldn’t walk side by side. Michaela took the lead.

They followed the gentle curve of the slow-moving summer river as it slid around the foothills of the Southern Range. The morning sun suffused the fog, thin though it was, giving everything a gentle golden glow. Anna’s borrowed shoes were snug enough, but not as suited to a hike as Michaela’s boots. They paused here and there to catch their breath and appreciate a field of orange and purple wild flowers, a lone mallard paddling lazily upstream, to catch a glimpse of a deer bounding into a copse far enough a way in the fog they couldn’t be sure they’d seen it. And though they waited for several minutes more, the deer did not reappear.

“I’d be surprised if we both saw the same not-deer,” said Michaela.

Anna had to agree.

They continued on their hike, Michaela taking the lead when the trail hugged a hill. Anna couldn’t have said how long they hiked, but she was feeling the absence of breakfast when she noticed the river was faster, churning small rapids here and there. A few minutes later, the trail opened into a long, shallow valley and the river spilled into a lake.

“I had no idea this was here,” Michaela said, voice awed.

A bright golden haze hung low on the lake. Summer lit the tops of the foothills on either side. Ducks called across the water and insects chirped in the grass. A breeze wafted through, ruffling her hair, shifting the fog, but not banishing it.

“This is fantastic. We’ll picnic here,” Michaela said.

The trail disappeared several feet into the valley meadow. Large, flat rocks dotted the meadow on the south side of the lake and they found one near the water, flat and smooth and warm. Anna shrugged off the backpack and helped Michaela unpack it. They spread a blanket upon their rock and set out the food: strawberries and blueberries, carrots and celery, tangy white sauce and mustard, summer sausage and soft yellow cheese, buttery crackers and crusty brown bread. There was even a bottle of what Anna, at first, thought was champagne.

“Just sparkling apple cider,” said Michaela with a small grin. “I’m not as rebellious as all that.”

Michaela withdrew a pair of thick-bottom glasses and poured them each a drink. Anna cut the sausage and the bread and spread cheese on a pair of slices. They sat with their legs crossed and looked out over the lake.

“Not that the excitement of last time wasn’t… interesting,” said Anna, “but this is nice.”

“You’re one of those girls who’d prefer to stay home and read a book, aren’t you?” said Michaela.

Anna nodded. “And you’re one of those girls who’d prefer to go out and dance the night away, aren’t you?”

Michaela grinned. “Uh huh.”

“Well I think we can be friends anyway,” said Anna.

“Good.”

They ate their picnic and sipped their sparkling cider and when they were done, Anna felt full and calm and content. It was when they were packing up that she saw the cottage. At the far end of the meadow where the lake narrowed and became a river again.

“Was that there before?” she asked.

Michaela looked. “Oh. I don’t know.” She turned a small grin on Anna. “Wanna explore?”

Anna hesitated. On the one hand the excitement of last time had been a bit much. On the other hand, it had been memorable. “I’m game if you are.”

It was a quick walk through the meadow to the cottage. It was a small stone structure with a peaked, tile-shingle roof. A single open-air window showed them a dark interior as they approached. They walked around to the right to find a doorway with no door. It was difficult from outside to discern anything in the shadowy interior. They looked at each other, then Michaela stepped up to the doorway and peered in.

“There’s nothing here,” she said. “It’s abandoned.” She stepped inside and Anna followed. There was nothing but a dusty stone floor, a single, open-air window, and wooden rafters draped with cobwebs.

“Hang on,” said Anna. For as her eyes adjusted, the back corner of the cottage, where the shadows were deepest, resolved into another doorway. She approached and put her hand on the wall to steady herself in the darkness. “There’s another room here.”

“There can’t be,” said Michaela. “It’s not that big a building.”

“Perhaps it’s bigger on the inside?” Anna said. Her eyes adjusted to the bit of light filtering into the second room and as they did so, it was clearly much larger than should have been possible.

Michaela joined her and let out a low whistle.

“You want to take a look, don’t you?” Anna said. She had to admit, she was curious.

“Uh huh.”

“The moment I see a doll, we’re out of here.”

“Agreed.”

“Did you bring a flashlight?”

“Of course.” Michaela unzipped a side pocket in the backpack Anna was wearing and withdrew a flashlight. The yellow-white beam did a lot to illuminate the impossibly large room. The ceiling was half again as tall as the entry chamber, the walls were white plaster and hung with a range of landscape paintings, the floor was covered with overlapping rugs of bright patterns and elaborate furniture with gilt inlay and fanciful cushions. Anna couldn’t tell by what reason the furniture had been placed. It all seemed haphazard to her.

Most unlikely, a set of stone stairs led up on the south wall.

“I didn’t see a second story from outside,” Michaela whispered.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Anna whispered back.

A moment passed.

“Hang on. Do you hear that?” Michaela said, her whisper bare above a breath.

A faint squeak preceded a thump, then again, then again—

scree-ump,

scree-ump,

scree-ump

—and a faint glow grew brighter and brighter on the wall of the stairs.

Anna was frozen by a combination of fear and curiosity. She held her breath and bit her tongue. Several thumps later, a hopping lamp came into view. It had a broad, circular base, a cylindrical, silver post, and a pale yellow lampshade with multi-colored beads hanging from its bottom rim. It squeaked as its post bent, like a torso and legs, then it hopped down from one stone step to the next. Its broad base, padded in black velvet, thumped upon the stone.

“It’s kind of cute,” said Michaela.

The lamp hopped down the stairs and to the center of the room to an end table next to one of the haphazardly placed couches. It hunched, preparing to jump, then hunched a bit more, then wiggled like a kitten about to pounce. With a sharp squeak, the lamp leapt higher than they’d yet seen, and landed upon the end table.

Anna applauded quietly.

The lamp bent at the middle toward them, a small bow, then bounced to center itself. Its light grew, brightening the room and banishing shadow.

The room gave a little shake and pressure pushed upon Anna’s shoulders. She widened her stance and bent her knees. Michaela grabbed her around the waist with one hand and braced herself on the wall with the other. The sudden closeness made Anna blush. A heavy door closed behind them with a thunklick. The girls turned to find the blond man with the multi-colored jacket stepping into the bare, stone entryway. The open doorway was blocked by a wooden door.

The man had an expression of contemplation about the eyes, then shook his head as though just noticing them.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

“Sorry to intrude,” said Michaela. “We didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Not at all. I shouldn’t have left the door open if I didn’t want strange girls wandering in.”

“We’ll just be going then,” said Anna.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” he said, gesturing at the window. “We’re already on our way. But, not to worry, my mother brought me up with a strong respect for the rules of hospitality. Have you eaten? Care for an early luncheon?”

“What do you mean, on our way?” said Michaela even as the room swayed, reminding Anna of the train.

“See for yourself.” He stepped to the open-air window and leaned against the wall.

Michaela hurried to the window. She put her hands on the sill and leaned her head out, the wind catching her hair and throwing it about her face. “We’re moving!”

Anna had guessed as much. “The other day, at the festival, what were you really after?”

The man looked at her, his grey blue eyes steady, thoughtful, then he broke into a roguish grin. “Can’t a man be enchanted by a young woman’s pretty face?”

Anna snorted. “My face isn’t pretty, and you’re not half as charming as you think. There’s talk of war between the witches, and I’m forced to wonder what your part in all this is, now that you’ve kidnapped us.”

His grin faded to neutral. He looked from Anna to Michaela who’d brought her head back into the house and was giving him a skeptical look.

“My name is Ivan Agayabab, but I don’t suppose that’ll mean anything to the two of you.”

Anna shook her head. Michaela crossed her arms as she moved to stand next to Anna.

“You’re not from here. But you’re not from too far away either. It’s as though you’re from a different book on the same shelf. So, I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you. Sabine Agayabab is my mother. She is the Witch of Money and every transaction in or near her city involving money is instantly known to her. I wanted news of my stepbrother, but I couldn’t pay for it in coin. I didn’t want her knowing I was in town.”

Annan looked at Michaela. “You buying this?”

Michaela shrugged. “We’re in a moving cottage with a magic lamp. His explanation seems as likely.”

“Also I haven’t kidnapped you,” Ivan said, his tone turning defensive. “I’d have let you out had I known you were here. As it is, I could let you out now, but that’d be unkind as the walk back to town would take hours at least. I have an errand to run, and when I’m done, I’ll put you back next to the lake. In the meantime, luncheon?”

“We’ve eaten, thank you,” said Michaela. “What is this errand you’re running?”

Her tone was strong, confident, defiant even. Anna blushed to know her voice carried none of that strength, and she envied her friend.

Ivan pursed his lips, then gestured past them into the room. “Very well. If you’ll come with me, I’ll explain what I’m about. On one condition.” He held up a slim, long finger. “Don’t tell my mother. So long as I keep up the pretense I’m not involved, her pursuit of my assistance is manageable.”

Michaela looked at Anna. Anna gave a small nod. Michaela looked at Ivan again. “Agreed.”

They entered the sitting room beyond. Ivan tapped the lamp on the end table. “You decided to let them stay, did you?”

The little lamp nodded, the beads around the bottom of its shade clinking.

“Well, if you say so,” said Ivan. “We’re going to the observatory. Please guard the front door.”

The lamp stood a little straighter, gave a sharp nod.

Ivan led them upstairs along a gently curving staircase with evenly spaced windows showing a sweeping mountainous countryside. Lakes and meadows, forests and hills, great banks of clouds and ice-capped peaks so clear and sharp she felt she could almost touch them. They moved at a steady pace, not as fast as the train, but close.

They climbed past three floors of rooms, and Ivan named them as they did so. “Kitchen and dining room, I hardly ever use it. Living quarters, don’t look I haven’t tidied. Library and study. And here’s the observatory.”

The stairs stopped at a landing and a doorway. Ivan opened the door to reveal a great, domed, glass ceiling. It appeared to be all of one piece, like a thick glass bowl set upsidedown upon a stone floor. At the far end was another doorway, leading to a stone-railed balcony.

A single padded chair stood in the center of the room.

“This is the largest scrying glass I’ve ever made,” Ivan said. “With it I can see anywhere I’ve ever been, as long as it’s not protected with magic.” He walked to the chair, sat, and pulled a lever on its side, reclining the chair so he was lying, facing the glass ceiling. “For example,” he paused and looked at them. “This can be a bit disorienting. You might want to sit, or even better, lie down.”

“What’s going to happen?” aid Michaela.

“I’m going to show you the town where I have to run my errand. The dome will show us the image. If you’re not used to scrying, it can shake your balance. Even if you are used to it.”

Michaela looked at Anna. Anna shrugged. They decided to sit facing Ivan.

“Ready then?”

“All right,” said Michaela.

Ivan stared at the glass dome, murmured a few words, then flicked his fingers as though tossing water. A trio of motes drifted to the center of the dome, like snow falling up. When they touched the glass, it shimmered and a spot of color appeared then grew and soon Anna was looking at the steep hills outside but from the perspective of something soaring high above. She knew she was looking up at the ceiling, but the perspective looked down and away and she found herself quickly growing dizzy.

“Oof,” said Michaela. “I think I need to lay down.”

“Me too,” Anna whispered.

They lay on their backs, shoulder to shoulder. Michaela’s hand found hers and held on tightly. Once on her back, it was much easier for Anna to orient herself. It was like watching a movie projected on the ceiling.

Their perspective centered upon a group of buildings at the edge of a dark green forest. The buildings were largely stone with wood-shingled roofs. People went about their business in rustic clothing.

Their perspective swooped into town, navigating the streets with ease sliding around folk, until they came to a modest home with a red door. Their perspective bumped off the door as though striking something solid. There was a sound like a bell struck far away. Their perspective moved forward again, striking that same distant bell, then again.

After a few minutes, the door opened and a gnomish looking man with large ears and a large nose and watery blue eyes and no hair opened the door.

“Ivan, is that you?” he demanded. “What do you want?” His voice echoed under the large, glass dome.

“Flandel, how have you been?”

“Don’t try to flatter me, boy,” Flandel said.

“Of course, my apologies,” said Ivan. “I need a favor.”

The man planted fists on hips and glared. “Oh, I’m sure you do. And with your mother preparing to assault innocent clansfolk, what makes you think I’m in any way interested in doing you a favor?”

“Flandel, you know I’m not in league with my mother’s warring efforts.”

“Oh, I know that, do I? Your loyalties are ever shifting. You back whomever you think will protect your skinny behind. You’re only ever looking out for yourself.”

“Even if that were true, Flandel, it would only be half true,” Ivan said, his tone growing somber. “Oscar has gone missing.”

Flandel pursed his lips, but he still looked grouchy. “I hadn’t heard about that,” he said eventually.

“That’s the reason mother’s getting feisty.”

“Dandylion feathers! That ridiculous feud! Yulana has never done anything for the clanfolk of the wastes except invite the wrath of her parsimonious sister. To the fires with both of them.”

“Flandel, if I can find Oscar, that might get mother to settle down. She’s already conscripting every mage who owes her a favor. And Bridgeford is recruiting every urchin, felon, and debtor in town who can hold a rifle. They’re gonna march up here and start setting fires to villages.”

“Ha! Let them try.”

“No, Flandel, I want to stop this before it gets out of hand. I need the Truename Spyglass.”

Flandel crossed his arms. “If you think I’m giving a powerful artifact to the sniveling son of the enemy of the clansfolk, you are out of your pretty little head.”

“What an idiot,” Michaela murmured.

“What was that?” said Flandel. “Who’s with you? Is this a trick?”

He thrust his left palm forward and their perspective backed up several steps. Flandel squinted just below center, and Anna realized he was looking at them.

“Taken up with a pair of little girls, have you Ivan? I didn’t suspect you for a pederast.”

“That’s not what that word means,” said Ivan.

“Which one of you little brats mouthed off, huh?”

“I did,” said Michaela proudly.

“And who do you think you are?”

“I think I’m the one who called you an idiot,” Michaela said. “Here he is trying to offer a way to prevent a war that, apparently, will burn down villages and, my guess is, quite a bit worse, and you won’t help?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Flandel.

“Well then, by all means, explain it to me.”

Michaela held Anna’s hand so hard, Anna’s fingers were going numb. For all the bravado, Anna could tell Michaela was nervous, uncertain. She hoped letting her fingers go numb was helping.

Flandel opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, then said, “I don’t have time for this. You’re not getting the Truename Spyglass, and that’s final.”

Anna, surprised at her own sudden surge of confidence, said, “Are you going to look for Oscar then?” She agreed with Michaela. Flandel was being stupidly stubborn.

“What do you mean?”

Anna cleared her throat. “Ivan says his mother, the Witch of Money, is angry because his brother, Oscar, has gone missing. She thinks her sister, the Witch of Puppets, is to blame, right?”

“Technically he’s my half-brother, but yes,” said Ivan.

“All right, fine,” said Flandel. “What of it?”

“If finding Ivan’s half-brother will stop this conflict before it gets started, then shouldn’t we?”

The old man pursed his lips again.

Ivan folded his hands upon his chest.

Several moments of silence passed.

“Well?” said Anna.

“I’m thinking,” said Flandel.

“Are you seriously thinking about whether or not it’s acceptable to allow a war brew between the witches?”

His frown deepened. “Watch your tone, little girl.”

“I don’t think I will.” Anna said, surprising herself more than anyone else. Michaela squeezed her hand encouragingly. “If you’re not going to help Ivan find his brother, are you going to do it yourself, or are you going to let people die?”

Flandel took a step back and crossed his arms firmly. “This town relies on me,” he said, though he didn’t sound as angry. “I can’t go wandering off on some adventure. I have work to do here.”

“That’s convenient,” Michaela said.

“It’s true!” Flandel said defensively.

Anna snorted. “If only you knew someone who could do it for you. Perhaps he could have a walking cottage to make the wandering a bit easier.”

Flandel scoffed, his attention shifted between the girls and Ivan. Finally he gestured widely “Are you going to let these little girls speak for you?”

“Why not? They’re doing an admirable job.” Ivan said mildly.

“Little girls?” Michaela muttered.

Anna squeezed Michaela’s hand. “Don’t let him distract the conversation. Bullies always try to deflect.”

Anna raised her hand. “I have a question.”

“Yes?” said Ivan.

“What does the Truename Spyglass do?”

“It allows you to see the true nature of any being you look at through it. I suspect Oscar has been transfigured. With the spyglass, among other things, I can seek him out.”

Anna looked at Flandel. “Is that true?”

The old man grumbled. “It’s a bit of an oversimplification, but yes.”

Anna nodded. “I thought as much. I have a proposition for you, Mr. Flandel. Michaela and I ended up with Ivan by accident. We’re not from around here. My guess is if you look at us through the Truename Spyglass, you’ll know that’s true, and that we have no stake in this fight. What if Michaela and I promise to help Ivan find Oscar? Then you’ll know you’re aren’t giving your precious artifact into the hands of an enemy.”

Flandel scoffed. “Just the hands of a pair of mouthy little girls.”

Anna shrugged. “Then stop the war yourself.”

The old man’s frown deepened, the lines of his face like the rings of a stump. For several long moments, he said nothing. Anna squeezed Michaela’s hand gently and Michaela squeezed back. His gaze was piercing and relentless and stoney and Anna had to wonder what the heck she was doing. The fog had given her Michaela, but now there were marauding toys and walking cottages and missing step-brothers. It was like something out of a story. If she was smart, she’d stay out of it.

“Your new apprentices are awfully bold,” Flandel said. “You’ll want to reign that in.”

Ivan shrugged and made a noncommittal noise.

Flandel sighed gustily. “Very well then. I will entrust the spyglass to the girls and they can find Oscar Agayabab. Not that your layabout brother has ever been good for the clansfolk of the wastes. But it’s better than all out conflict.”

“Excellent,” said Ivan, clapping his hands. “It’s decided. “We’ll see you in less than an hour.”

Ivan flicked his fingers and Flandel’s grumpy visage rippled, giving way to the shifting fog beyond the glass dome. Ivan pulled the lever on the side of his chair and it folded back up into a chair shape. Anna and Michaela scrambled to their feet.

“Well, that went better than expected.” said Ivan. “Care for tea?”

“Sure,” said Michaela brightly, though to Anna her tone felt a bit too bright.

Ivan didn’t seem dangerous or to bear them ill will, but it was all highly peculiar. She didn’t know whether she could trust him, which made being in his house, wondrous though it was, off-putting.

Ivan led them downstairs to the kitchen which while neat and orderly, looked as though it’d never been used. In contrast to Sarah’s kitchen which had a place for everything, hardly any of which was in its place.

Ivan gestured to a nook at the far end of the kitchen at a small table and set of chairs next to a window overlooking the fog. The girls sat.

“I must thank you for your help with Flandel. He’s always been extraordinarily cranky. Even when I was his star pupil, he never could let himself pay me a compliment.”

Anna and Michaela exchanged looks.

“Now, as soon as I find a kettle, we can enjoy a cup of tea. Before talking to that old sourpuss again.” Then, humming to himself, Ivan clattered through cupboards, giving Anna and Michaela a semblance of privacy.

Anna watched him for a while. He found a kettle in a cupboard near the stove and set it on the counter with a box of matches. He turned a dial on the side of the stove and a faint hiss of gas escaped the burner. He struck a match and held it to the gas which ignited with a whoomph. Then he straightened, looked about, and found the sink. He turned the tap and a steady stream of water poured forth. Anna couldn’t help but wonder where the gas and water came from, considering the house was moving. Surely it wasn’t hooked up to municipal utilities.

“That was courageous.” Michaela whispered.

Anna turned her attention to Michaela. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Wanting to stop the war between the witches all by yourself.”

Anna blushed. She didn’t feel courageous, she just thought it was awful that innocent folk would get hurt because a pair of feuding sisters couldn’t handle their drama like adults.

“It’s just… if there’s an easy way to stop all this, then obviously that’s the thing to be done. I’m not sure I should be the one to do it though.”

“Well, you volunteered us,” said Michaela.

Anna cringed. She hadn’t meant to do that. She figured once they had the Truename Spyglass away from Flandel, she could give it to Ivan and let him find his brother. He was obviously some kind of wizard and was much better prepared to handle the situation than she and Michaela.

“Sorry about that,” said Anna. “I shouldn’t have involved you without asking.”

“Not at all,” said Michaela. “I will back you up on whatever fog-shrouded, other-worldly, impossible adventure you find yourself on.”

Anna smiled despite herself. But before she could explain about her plan to hand the spyglass over, she noticed something through the window. A group of men in bright white uniforms with gold cuffs and collars and boots trudged up the hillside through the smattering of fog. A figure in ostentatious red and gold robes sat at leisure upon a silver palanquin with six crab-like legs carrying it along behind.

“What is that?” Anna said.

Michaela looked and frowned. “Do you suppose they work for the Witch of Money?”

“Yes,” said Ivan, from across the kitchen.

Anna started and looked at him. He stared through the window, a trio of mugs gripped by the handle in one hand, the kettle on the stove behind him.

“My mother has a thing for ostentatious uniforms.”

Anna bit her tongue on a comment about his multi-colored jacket.

“Surely they’re also on their way to see Flandel. We’ll have to hurry. Come, ladies.” And he hurried from the kitchen.

Anna and Michaela exchanged another look.

Michaela shrugged. “You did offer to help.”

They hurried after, Anna pausing briefly to turn off the stove. Downstairs, in the sitting room where the lamp still shone brightly, they found Ivan pulling on his multi-colored coat, the trio of mugs forgotten upon a couch cushion. Ivan tapped the top of the lamp with a fingertip.

“Keep an eye on the door for me. None but the three of us in or out until I say so.”

The lamp nodded curtly.


	6. Flandel's Cupboards

The air was brisk, smelling of new grass and old trees. Ivan preceded them down the short hill toward the backside of the village. Around the corner of a stone house came Flandel. He planted his feet in the dirt and his fists on his hips and gave them a scowl.

"Your jackboots have arrived," he said as they approached.

"They're not my jackboots," Ivan said. "I prefer something with more color and a bit of a heel."

Flandel snorted then turned and walked the other way.

Ivan trotted to catch up and Anna and Michaela hurried after. As they passed the bright red front door to Flandel's house, Ivan flicked a glance at it. Anna suspected he was considering burglary.

"I can make them go away if you like," Ivan said.

"And you think I can't?" Flandel replied, voice gruff.

"My methods don't involve firing the first shot and giving Sabina Agayabab an excuse to declare all out war."

Flandel snorted again.

A crowd had gathered at the edge of town, staring across the grassy slope at white-uniformed men marching toward them, spidery palanquin glinting in the sun.

"What do you suppose they want?" Anna said, thoughts swirling. It seemed far too much a coincidence that the Witch of Money's soldiers should arrive at the same time as Ivan Agayabab.

"What they always want," Flandel said. "Unconditional surrender and support for their cause." He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his worn leather jacket. Anna wondered what might be in those pockets. Something to deal with the soldiers perhaps.

"Right," she said, "but they want that from everybody in the mountains, don't they?"

"Of course," said Flandel.

"What are you getting at?" said Ivan.

"Oh," said Michaela. "I think I see. You just said that Minister of War has only now begun to put together his army."

"Right," said Anna. "That's awfully quick to send a group up here, isn't it? That suggests to me they've come here first. What does the Witch of Money want from this town before any other?"

"Of course," said Ivan. "Very clever. I should have seen that."

Flandel grumbled curses under his breath. "Yes, yes, very clever. You think they're here for the spyglass too."

"And whatever other enchanted knickknacks you've squirreled away over the decades," Ivan said. "I'm sure my dear mother can find a forgotten clause in the tax laws to collect whatever she likes from any magician of the wastes."

Flandel pursed his lips, expression half thoughtful, half furious. "Very well. Take it." He withdrew his left hand and handed a key to Ivan. "In the cellar you'll find a set of drawers. They're organized alphabetically. Name the thing you're looking for, then open the correct drawer."

Ivan took the key and handed it to Anna.

Anna took it gingerly. The key was dark burnished copper with large craggy teeth and an intricate pommel in the shape of a rose. It was longer than Anna's middle finger and heavier than expected.

Ivan reached up his right sleeve with his left hand and withdrew a slip of paper covered in rainbow-hued script and handed it to Michaela. "Give this to Lux. It will take you back to where you found us."

"What about you?" Anna asked.

"Don't worry about me. I can always find the cottage when I need to. It was not my intent to drag interdimensional visitors into a family squabble. You may leave the spyglass with Lux if you like. Or, if you meant it, begin the search for my brother."

Anna nodded. She looked at Michaela who gave her a grin.

"Before you go," said Ivan, "I was serious about painting your portraits. The offer stands."

Anna blushed. Though she was sure he meant it as a compliment, it made her uncomfortably squirmy.

"Knock it off," Flandel grumbled. "You two get going. I don't want those thugs to see Ivan's got a new pair of apprentices."

Michaela took Anna's hand. They hurried back through the crowd and made their way to the stone house with the bright red door. There was no handle, no knob, no latch, just a copper plate to match the key, and a hole to receive it. With some trepidation, Anna slid the key into the keyhole and twisted, half expecting an otherworldly reaction. Instead, there was only the metal snick of the bolt sliding and the door swung in a bit.

Inside they found a single room, spare of furnishings. A round wooden table front and center seated four. A sink and stove stood in an L-shaped counter in the back left corner. A stone spiral staircase stood in the back right.

"The cellar," Michaela said.

The girls hurried to the staircase spiraling tightly down. In the cellar they found what had to be Flandel's work room. A broad, low table stood along either sidewall, filled with a variety of projects, tools, and geegaws, carved wood and metal wire, uncut stone and glass bottles filled with all colors of substance. Anna was struck giddy by the sight of it all, but Michaela hurried to the set of wooden drawers against the back wall, each marked with a copper plate. The drawers were about a foot wide and half a foot tall and the whole case of them stretched floor to ceiling.

"I think this one's it," Michaela said.

Anna looked at the drawer Michaela indicated. The copper plate had been stamped: "Tr".

"So, we name what we're looking for and open the drawer, right?" Michaela said.

Anna nodded. "That's what he said."

Michaela put a hand on the drawer handle, paused a moment, and pulled it open. The drawer was empty.

"I think you have to say it out loud," Anna said.

"Truename Spyglass." Michaela tried again, nothing. "I'm not doing this right," said Michaela, "you try." She stepped out of the way making room for Anna.

Anna grasped the handle of the drawer. She closed her eyes and said "Truename spyglass." But when she opened the drawer, a fist-sized puffball was inside. It was mottled brown and orange and white, had long hair, and purred faintly.

"Oh," said Michaela. "It's so cute." She reached into the drawer and stroked the little creature's fur gently. "It's soft too."

"But it's not what we are looking for," Anna said.

"Can we keep it?" Michaela asked.

"I don't think that's a good idea. We have no idea what it is and no idea what Flandel will do if he finds it missing."

"He's keeping it in a box." Michaela gave Anna a soul crushing-crushing look, dark eyes wide, forehead crinkled just ever so slightly. Her hand continued to stroke the little puff.

"A magical box," Anna replied. "Michaela please those soldiers had guns. We need to hurry."

Michaela sighed, but she put her hands behind her back and took a step back. "You're right."

Anna closed the drawer, took a breath, and said with as much conviction as she could muster, "Truename spyglass."

And when she opened the drawer it was filled with clusters of dark brown mushrooms in crumbly black earth interspersed with mounds of chocolate topped with crumbled nuts. The odor was pungent. Michaela stood next to her and peered into the drawer. Then she looked at Anna.

"I don't get it," said Michaela. "You named the thing."

Anna closed the drawer.

Outside, someone shouted. Michaela put a hand on her shoulder.

"Maybe we should go."

"One more try," said Anna. She closed her eyes again, but this time, she pictured what she thought something called a Truename Spyglass would look like.

It was a telescoping brass tube with a lens at either end. The brass was brushed to a soft shine. Either end, at the cuff cradling the lens, was engraved scrolling knots and runes. It was constructed of three parts and she knew they would slide against each other with firm smoothness when collapsed and telescoped. The brass would be cool to the touch but warm easily in her hand. It would have a faint metallic smell that lingered.

The drawer slid open in her hand and when Anna looked, the very item she'd imagined lay within.

"Wow. You didn't even say anything. How'd you do that?"

Anna shrugged. "I imagined it."

"Huh. Well, he could have been more clear."

Anna snatched up the item. The brass was cool in her palm. "Let's go."

The hurried up the tightly spiraling staircase, hurried across the sparsely furnished ground floor, and were to the bright red door when a deep, booming crack, like mechanized thunder, filled the space outside. Anna stopped suddenly and Michaela ran into her from behind.

"What..." Michaela's whisper was a cold breath on Anna's ear.

Anna couldn't respond. Her heart raced and her jaw clenched and she couldn't make herself speak. She couldn't make herself move. She'd never heard a gunshot before, not outside the movies anyway. It had been loud. Louder than she'd thought possible, even through the walls of Flandel's home.

Shouting bumbled along behind, a disjointed cacophony in the distance.

"Anna?"

Anna shook herself. "We've got to get to the cottage."

"Right." Michaela put a hand on Anna's shoulder, like a drop of warmth in midwinter, it melted Anna's paralysis, if not her fear, and spurred her to action. Anna put a hand on the handle and pulled the door open. The street beyond was empty, but the shouting at the edge of town was more pronounced with the door open.

"Just around the corner. It's a straight sprint." Anna said.

"Right," Michaela said again.

It took a deep breath and a deliberate movement for Anna to step outside Flandel's home to the packed-earth street beyond. She felt Michaela right on her heels. Only a few quick steps later they were at the corner of the house and rounding the corner, Ivan's cottage was just where it'd been, a small, dusty stone building with an open doorway

Another gunshot ripped through the air.

The girls froze.

Someone screamed, a sharp, clear sound, like a poorly tuned flute.

Anna swallowed hard.

"I... I can't make myself move," Michaela said.

"Sure you can," Anna replied. She reached behind her and Michaela grabbed her hand so hard their knuckles cracked. Anna drew the other girl up next to her. "There, you see? You moved no problem."

Michaela breathed a short laugh. "Run for it?"

Anna nodded. "On three."

"One..." Michaela said.

"Two..." Anna said.

"Hold it!"

Anna didn't mean to, but she looked over her shoulder.

The solider was resplendent in white and gold, dazzling to behold. A bucket-like helmet sat upon his head, secured with a chinstrap. He held a rifle to his shoulder, pointed at them. Its barrel was shiny, silver, and shone in the sun, despite the faint haze that still clung. Anna's vision focused on the man and she realized he was young, his face rounder than she'd expected, the hint of a beard upon his cheeks, the hint of a bruise under his left eye. And his uniform was threadbare at the cuffs. The gold trim upon his shoulders crooked.

"Or else what?" Anna demanded. She should have bit her tongue. She should have sprinted for the cottage. Instead, she turned to face the young soldier.

The rifle wavered and drooped. "Or... or else..." his voice was high, uncertain.

"Are you going to shoot us?" Anna demanded.

Michaela let go her hand so she could turn and face the soldier with her.

"I..."

"We're leaving now," Michaela said.

The soldier swallowed hard and lowered his rifle.

Anna's shoulders itched as she turned again for Ivan's cottage. Together, she and Michaela climbed the shallow hill, not running, but certainly hurrying.

"Oy! Why didn't you stop them?"

The girls were halfway up the hill when the older voice sprang at them. They broke into a sprint, mere lengths from the open doorway.

A third gunshot split the air.

Anna tripped, falling to her knees, skidding on the grass and staining her skin. She continued forward on all fours for several paces as she scrambled to her feet. Behind them was more shouting, but Anna focused forward. Michaela was already at the doorway, stopped and turned to her, eyes wide, hand outstretched. Anna moved as quickly as she could, and moments later was though the doorway, Michaela coming in behind her. They hurried through the small, bare antechamber to the lavishly appointed sitting room where the lamp still stood, straight and bright, upon its table.

"The paper," Anna said, looking at Michaela.

Michaela blinked at her and tears slid down her cheeks. Then she nodded and dug in the pocket of her dress to withdraw the slip of paper Ivan had given her. She held it out to the lamp who bent at the middle as though to get a better look.

A door closed with a thump behind them and the whole room shifted like an elevator hurrying for the top floor.

Anna gave a sigh of relief. She found the couch where she'd left her shoulderbag and sat, her joints like water, her breath like honey, her thoughts a scrambled mess. Michaela sat down next to her.

"I thought they'd shot you."

"What?"

"You fell," Michaela said. "I thought they'd shot you."

Anna shook her head. "I'm fine." She rubbed at her grass-stained knees, a little skinned.

"I'm glad," Michaela said.

For moments that became minutes, there was silence between them. When Anna realized Michaela was crying, she turned her head, her body still too exhausted to move.

"What's wrong?"

"We were shot at," Michaela said.

"But neither of us was hurt, right?"

Michaela nodded. "But what if it gets worse? You're my only friend, and if the only time I get to see you is when we're in danger, maybe... maybe you won't come through the fog anymore."

Anna shook her head. "Of course I will. I'm not going to leave you."

Michaela gave a blustery sigh, shoulders shaking. Then she bent and unlocked her guitar case, withdrawing the instrument and cradling it on her lap. She strummed a slow, gentle repeating pattern.

Anna closed her eyes and her shoulders relaxed.

She could feel the gentle sway of the cottage as it trundled along. Between that and Michaela's music, Anna's eyes went heavy-lidded. She let her shoulders sink into the couch cushion, let her mind wander from moment to moment, winding down.

They'd found the spyglass. They'd escaped without injury. They were headed to safety, but safety meant not being together. Anna wished she knew where Michaela was when the fog was out. Perhaps it was dream. Perhaps it was a trick played by a lonely mind. Perhaps it was an escape from the classmates who tormented her. What would they think, she wondered if they saw her with Michaela, if they saw dolls bursting from the fog, if it was all just a dream...

Anna came to when the cottage settled to a stop. She took a quick, deep breath and looked about to assure herself she was still in Ivan Agayabab's sitting room, the friendly lamp still glowed, Michaela still sat next to her. She shifted and noted the Truename Spyglass sitting in her lap. She took it in one hand and prodded Michaela with the other.

Michaela snorted and blinked, clutching at her guitar.

"Are we here?"

Anna nodded. "Time to go home, I suppose."

Michaela sighed. "Must I?"

"I'd invite you over. I'm sure Sarah and Kenny wouldn't mind, but I don't think it'd work."

Michaela stood and stretched before putting her guitar away. Anna joined her and together they walked to the open doorway, beyond which stood the grassy hill and driveway leading up.

"No fog," Michaela said.

She was right. Anna could see no fog beyond the doorway of Ivan's cottage.

"You promise all this hasn't scared you off?" Michaela asked. "I mean, a fight between witches, getting shot at, actual magic and all?"

Anna nodded. "It's scary to be sure, but not enough to keep me from wanting to see you again." She held up the spyglass. For a moment, she considered leaving it on the table with the lamp, then shook her head. "Besides, we promised to help."

It was a bit of a squeeze, but they stepped through the doorway together into the bright summer sunlight of midafternoon. 


	7. Thrlling Capture

Anna took the Truename Spyglass to breakfast the next day. She had considered trying to be surreptitious about it, but being surreptitious wasn’t her strong suit and she decided she didn’t mind if Kenny and Sarah thought she was a bit peculiar. While they puttered about in the kitchen, she extended the device and looked through it at the two adults.

It made everything appear significantly closer, just like a regular telescope, with the smallest of movements shifting her field of vision dramatically. But after a while of working on it, she was able to see both adults clearly, if only their heads, and as far as she could tell neither looked any different than normal. She wondered if she was doing it wrong or if the magic of the spyglass only worked when the fog was in, or only if she was in the other place, or maybe it was just a regular telescope.

“Whacha got there, kiddo?” Kenny asked.

Anna put the spyglass down and collapsed it. “Just a telescope. I’m borrowing it from a… friend.”

“Neat,” said Kenny. “May I?” He held his hand out.

Anna had long since learned not to hand over things important to her to classmates. Even if their intent wasn’t malicious, they were often careless. But Kenny was different. He was kind and gentle and had the sure hands of a carpenter, so she handed it to him. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it closely.

“Interesting markings,” he said, running a finger along the knotted runes on the bands at either end. “I don’t see a maker’s mark though.” He extended it. “Extraordinary craftsmanship.” Then he looked through it at Sarah. “Oh my goodness!”

His exclamation caught Anna by surprise. Had he seen something magical? Had he figured out how to use it?

“Who is that beautiful, giant woman over there?”

Sarah snorted at him. “Whoever she is would appreciate someone getting the plates out for breakfast,” she said in a gruff tone belied by her smile.

Kenny collapsed the telescope and handed it back to Anna with dutiful carefulness before getting plates for breakfast.

Anna sat in her room most of that day writing poetry, waiting for the fog to come in, and only coming down for meals. She’d promised to help find Ivan’s stepbrother but she didn’t know where to begin. Perhaps she’d promised too much. Perhaps she was doomed to break it. Either way, she didn’t see how she could do anything about it on this side of the fog.

The fog didn’t come in the next day or the day after, or the day after that. Anna considered walking down to town, perhaps visiting the library, but she worried she might run into Frank or Bertie and she wasn’t interested in whatever tense conversation would result. Bertie was mad at her for some reason, and Frank made her feel more awkward than normal. She didn’t want to walk to the house across the vale because she knew Michaela wouldn’t be there. Not even the prospect of wandering through the wooded hills held any appeal. She tried her hand at a bit more poetry but everything fell flat. She considered asking Sarah or Kenny if they wanted help, but neither gardening, nor sewing, nor woodworking seemed interesting.

She lay in bed, flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, thinking of nothing after breakfast one morning, trying not to obsess over not knowing what to do. She was considering the possibility of going back to sleep just so she wouldn’t have to think about it, when she realized the hole in her chest had returned. It was that hole that had sucked the interest from poetry, hiking, and the library. She couldn’t even feel bad about it. She just felt…

Someone tapped at the door frame.

Anna lifted her head to find Sarah in the doorway, her usual beaming self.

“How you doing, Anna?”

Anna shrugged as best she could from lying on the bed. “Fine.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

Anna shook her head. “Unless you know something about the Agayabab family.”

“Agayabab? No, can’t say I’ve ever heard of them. Do they live in town?”

Anna shook her head. “Maybe? Maybe they used to?”

“Well, if they have anything to do with Glenwood, they’ll be in the public record.”

That perked Anna’s interest and the sucking hole in her chest slowed. “What?”

“The old city hall building, the big brick one with the clock tower, there’s a public records room that’s a division of the public library, they have all sorts of stuff in there that has to do with local history. Anything you could want to know is there. Kenny and I used it several years back for a family tree project.”

Anna sat up and the hole in her chest diminished. She didn’t actually think there would be public records on this side of the fog about the Witch of Money or the Witch of Puppets or Ivan and his brother, but it was a place to start and having something to focus on, something to do, might stave off the listlessness.

“Maybe I’ll go do that today.”

“Well, that sounds fun,” said Sarah. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Anna got dressed in t-shirt, shorts, and flip flops. She gathered her extra notebooks, pens, and pencils into her shoulderbag, fetched the spyglass from the top dresser drawer, and trotted downstairs and out the front door.

Kenny was in the garden, fixing a post upon which leaned a tomato plant.

“Off on an adventure?” he asked.

Anna felt the hint of a smile. “Not sure. I’ll let you know when I get back.”

“I’ll want all the details,” he said with a grin.

The walk down to town was refreshing and she took her time with it, pausing to look at the town and surrounding valley through the spyglass from time to time. She didn’t see anything magical or unexpected through it.

She crossed the Okagawa and was greeted by the smell of brewing coffee and baking bread. The folk on Clayfield were in stages of preparing for the day: eating breakfast, adjusting backpacks, sweeping the sidewalk. The proprietor of Vendors Emporium waved at her with a smile.

Anna waved back.

The clock tower chimed its familiar melody over the valley before ringing nine times in solemn succession. The building to which the clock tower was attached was an old brick edifice with a recessed entry. Inside, a series of shopfronts faced a winding tiled hallway, like a second, indoor street.

Anna dismissed the idea of asking for directions to the records room. The idea of talking to someone she didn’t know as too much for this morning. After some time wandering, she found a directory. On the bottom right was her goal: Record Room – Basement. An arrow pointed right, so Anna wend down the hall on her right until she came to a T-junction and found another sign pointing left to a set of stairs.

Anna made her way down two flights of stairs at the bottom of which she found a black plastic placard with white lettering declaring: Records Room. The room had dark wood paneling on the walls, white drop-ceiling tiles, and dusty beige carpeting. Though Anna could hear the faint hum of air through vents, the whole room was a bit musty with a hint of pine-scented cleaner. Both side walls held floor to ceiling bookshelves from the front wall to the back. From the back wall to the middle of the room were six more freestanding shelves. Each shelf was packed with books.

Centered in the front half of the room was a single, long table accompanied by straight-backed, uncushioned chairs. An ancient microfiche reader stood on one end of the table. Anna remembered seeing one in the back of her elementary school library once. Fortunately, instructions were printed down one side of the machine.

The room was well lit, so Anna perused the shelves, trying to determine how to get started. After nearly half an hour, she found the history of Glenwood spanned back nearly two-hundred-fifty years, and this room seemed to contain all of it. From census data to city council minutes, newspapers to festival brochures, gossip columns to personal journals. All of it had been preserved: either bound in books or scanned onto microfiche.

For some time, Anna amused herself by selecting a random book, opening to a random page, and reading what was there.

She learned there had been a massive forest fire in the valley twenty or so miles east of Glenwood and the town had been evacuated, though several folks had refused to leave, resulting in fines levied and shouting matches at city council.

She learned the city council had rejected the request to host a wine festival five years in a row until Aileen Clayfield, the woman who’d made the requests, got herself elected to the council and convinced her compatriots that the tourism would be good business for the valley. Of course, Mrs. Clayfield was the owner of several vineyards downvalley and the closest winery to Glenwood. Since then the festival had been a yearly event and forty some years of brightly colored, hand drawn flyers promoting the event were viewable via microfiche.

She learned about the legend of Old King, Ali Clayfield. He’d made his way to the valley with the earliest of the prospectors. He’d taken a liking to the natural hot springs of the area and candid testimonial suggested he wasn’t a particularly good prospector. He’d managed to strike it rich anyway and founded the town of Glenwood. His disappearance, some twenty-odd years later, was a mystery. All manner of folk-tale cropped up to explain. It was much the same as she’d heard from Frank and Bertie.

Finally Anna found the indices at the back of the left-most aisle. The indices dated back to seven years before the founding of Glenwood. It seemed to label every person, place, and event that had ever found its way to the valley.

Anna sighed. “This will take a while.”

The room responded only with the faint hum of air through vents.

Anna started at the beginning, searching each index book, organized by time period, for the name Agayabab, mention of witches, feuds, fog, spyglasses, spirit lights, or anything else unusual. Though it was tedious, Anna took careful notes of anything that might be related to her experiences on the other side of the fog.

It was several hours later when she finished and she’d only managed to fill a third of a notebook. The fog was mentioned often. People and pets went missing or got lost, things were seen but unexplained, none of which was taken seriously. More than one woman in the early days was accused of witchcraft, but modern analysis said those claims were based on superstition and misogyny. There were plenty of feuds to be had, but none between witches. There was no mention of spirit lights, magical spyglasses, or a name that even sort of looked like Agayabab.

Anna stood and stretched her arms above her head. Her spine popped, her vision fuzzed and she was momentarily dizzy. With a deep breath, she put her hands on the table to steady herself. She’d skipped lunch and her stomach protested loudly. Though the research had been a bust, it had been interesting.

She was ready to pack up when a thought occurred to her. A few minutes later, she was looking at city boundaries and construction records. She found the address for Sarah and Kenny’s house was 102 Little Hill Road. From there she was able to find an aerial view of their house, and the house across the vale. A few minutes on, she found the other house’s address of 101 Little Hill Road, that it had been constructed sixty-three years ago, paid for by a Mr. and Mrs. Madigan. The Madigans had a daughter named Michaela.

Anna dutifully wrote down the information, then sat back with a sigh.

Sixty-three years ago.

“Are you a ghost?” she whispered.

The house at 101 Little Hill Road was sold nearly ten years later and floated through a series of owners until sold to the town of Glenwood five years ago. It had sat empty ever since.

There was no further information on Michaela Madigan.

**• • •**

Anna walked up two flights of stairs from the records room, thoughts atumble. Perhaps Michaela Madigan wasn’t _her_ Michaela. But that’d be an awfully big coincidence. Perhaps the same magic of the fog that put similar shops in similar positions along Clayfield Street put a similar house across a similar vale. Perhaps the girl she knew wasn’t the same girl from sixty-some years ago. Or maybe Michaela was a ghost. Or maybe she was from another plane of existence entirely, like Ivan and Flandel and the Witches.

Michaela had said she feared the magic was fickle, that changing something might change everything. That the magic might stop working. But Anna hated not knowing.

She reached the top of the stairs and looked around for the signs that would direct her to the entrance. She wanted to get out, to take a walk, to clear her thoughts. But the hallway at the top of the stairs wasn’t the hallway she remembered. This hallway was lined with dark-stained wainscoting and dark gold wallpaper and a pristine white rug running its length. The lighting was dim and yellow, bright enough to see, but deliberately unobtrusive.

Anna looked around, wondering if she’d taken a wrong turn, but there were no wrong turns to take between the bottom and the top of the stairs.

She found a window, and through it, thickly swirling fog.

Her heart rate quickened with a bit of fear, a bit of excitement a bit of anticipation.

She hesitated, deciding what to do.

Down the hall a door slid open and a billow of steam escaped ahead of a group of people. They were clad in bright, terry-cloth robes. The women’s hair was done up in towels. Their skin shone damply. They came down the hall toward her and she stepped aside to let them pass. One of the women nodded genially.

“Not in the old City Hall anymore, I suppose.”

Anna went down the hall the other way, peeking into the room they’d vacated. It had white tile floors, walls, and ceiling with a few here and there in gold. Along one wall stood a set of cubbies some of which held clothes or shoes or small duffels. Another door bore a slate upon which was written: Steam, 102°.

Anna continued on her way, but there were no signs and the halls were labyrinthine. She passed steam rooms and saunas and pools, each of which were labeled with a temperature and some of which were labeled as private, there were more people clad in bright-colored robes, all of whom had a happily relaxed look about them.

A boy with straight blond hair in a pageboy cut came around the corner toward her. He wore a loose, white polo shirt with golden collar and white cargo shorts that fell to his knee. He looked familiar and a moment or two later, Anna realized he was the same boy who’d served her champagne at the festival a few weeks back.

He nodded at her as he passed. She wondered if he remembered her. Likely not. The festival had been crowded. A few minutes later, she rounded another corner and saw him again, carrying a suitcase and following a gentleman in a pink robe.

Anna blinked, wondering if she’d got turned around. Perhaps this building was actually a prison of lavender scented steam and soft warm towels. She’d just decided to climb out the next window she saw when a door slid open in front of her and Michaela emerged.

“Vivianna?” Michaela’s placid expression split into a wide grin. Her vibrant auburn hair, usually free to bounce where it may, was held back in a tight bun and shone like silk in the dim lightning. She was clad in a deep blue robe, like the darkest of sapphires, bare feet peeking from under the hem.

Anna felt herself blush at that smile.

“It’s good to see you. I didn’t realize the fog was in.”

“Me neither,” said Anna. “I just saw it. I suppose this means this place exists where you live?”

Michaela nodded. “The hot springs bathhouse is the most popular attraction in Glenwood.” Then she covered her mouth, eyes going wide. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. What if…”

Anna shrugged. “Doesn’t look like you’ve broken the spell yet. In my version of Glenwood, the hot springs is a few blocks away. This is the old city hall. It’s a bunch of shops and stuff now.” She stopped short of mentioning the records room. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Michaela what she’d found out about the house across the vale.

“And when the fog rolled in, instead of shopping, you found yourself in the bathhouse without a robe.” Michaela giggled and Anna blushed harder. “Oh. I wonder if… Well… No I suppose they’re not here if the fog has come in.”

“What’s that?” Anna asked.

“My parents are in town. That’s how I’m here without having had to sneak out. I’d love to introduce you to them, but…”

A deep, droning buzz intruded upon them from a distance. Anna looked around for an insect, a lost bumblebee perhaps. But as the droning rapidly grew louder it was obviously a bug and not inside. The whole building shook, windows rattling as the noise reached its peak and quickly receded, changing pitch. It reminded Anna of the noise old style fighter planes made in movies and cartoons.

“What was…” Michaela started, hugging her chest.

Anna shook her head, but before she could reply, another came, then another.

There was shouting from somewhere in the building, downstairs, Anna thought, then a series of cracks, much like the gunshots they’d heard in Flandel’s village.

“Didn’t you tell me the Witch of Money owns the bathhouse on this side of the fog?” Anna said.

Michaela nodded. “I suppose this is in retaliation for sending her soldiers up into the wastes.”

“Maybe. But I don’t want to find out. Know anywhere we can hide?”

Michaela shook her head. “Any of the individual rooms we might go in, we’ll be trapped if they decide to search.”

Anna’s gaze lit upon a window. She hurried to it, undid the clasps, and lifted it. The fog was thick and drifted in like shyly questing tendrils. Despite the fog, Anna could see the roof of the building next door, about five feet below the sill of her window. There was a gap between, nearly ten feet across. Though Anna peered, she could not see the bottom of that gap. She had to assume it ended in unforgiving paving stones at best.

Michaela came up beside her. “Well, it doesn’t look totally impossible. You ever do track and field at school?”

Anna shook her head. “I’ve got asthma. You?”

“I’m homeschooled and Baba thinks it’s unladylike for me to proceed at anything other than a brisk walk.”

There was another gunshot. The shouting grew closer, some of it angry, some of it frightened.

“Still,” said Anna. “It’s probably better than being shot at.” Anna looked back out the window. “Probably.”

A man came around the corner. He was short and stout and barrel-chested. He wore a baggy, old-style flight suit with tall, hard-souled boots and a pair of flight goggles perched upon his head. He had the long, floppy ears and furred muzzle of a brindle hound. In his hands, one supporting the barrel and the other on the trigger, was a thick-barreled firearm. It was shorter and cruder than those wielded by the Witch of Money’s white-uniformed soldiers.

“You two. Congratulations you’re now hostages of the Pirate Ace Coalition. Hands up.”

Anna put her hands at shoulder-height, palms out. From the corner of her eye she saw Michaela do the same. There was another gun shot, closer, perhaps just down the hall from where the dog-faced pirate had come.

Anna winced.

The dog-faced pirate’s expression softened. “Don’t you worry, girls. The Pirate Ace Coalition has a strict no-harm policy with hostages. Just do as you’re told and once the ransom is paid, you’ll be released. No worse for the wear. In fact, long term hostages have been known to seek employment.”

“That’s a promise?” Anna demanded. She bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to ask out loud. Her smart mouth was getting the best of her.

But the dog-faced pirate seemed to think her earnest.

“Yes, ma’am. And if you have any complaints about how you’ve been treated by any of our members, you can file them with administration at HQ.”

The answer didn’t mollify her, but it did make her think he was serious.

“What do you think?” said Michaela.

“Well, he’s got a gun pointed at us, so our options are slim,” said Anna. “Besides, he did promise.”

“He did,” said Michaela. “And he looks like a good boy.”

Anna bit her tongue again. She didn’t want to laugh at a dog-faced pirate who grinned at being called ‘a good boy’.

“All right ladies, you may put your hands down so long as you keep them in plain sight. Now, if you’ll turn around and precede me down the hall and to your left, there should be a set of stairs that will get us to the roof.”

The girls did as they were told.

Anna’s chest was tight with fear and excitement. It was a wonder she hadn’t coughed, her breath hadn’t caught. In fact, she noted, as she was marched at gunpoint through the dimly lit halls of the bathhouse, she’d barely felt her asthma since coming to Glenwood. Maybe it was the lack of pollution. Maybe it was something else.

They went up three flights of stairs, joined occasionally by groups of hostages and their animal-headed, pirate captors. There was a large fat man with a pig’s face and a big, bristly moustache. There was a thin man with a rat’s pointy face and scraggly beard. There was a short man with the feathered, beaked face of a pigeon. And all the hostages in their brightly colored, bathhouse robes seemed calm despite their capture.

Finally they reached the door leading to the rooftop. Anna was certain the old city hall building wasn’t this tall. The rooftop was a shallow-peaked, meticulously covered in interlocking, shiny red shingles. To their right stood the brick clock tower, obscured by swirling fog. Swirling the fog was what appeared to be a large, old style cargo plane. Its backside was pointed at them and a ramp had been lowered to within a foot of the roof-peak. It had massive, shiny metal wings and four horizontal propellers presumably keeping it aloft, like the most improbable helicopter.

“All right, boys and girls, everyone on the plane, we gotta go!” A ram-horned pirate shouted over the din of the aerocraft and the babble of the hostages.

“Can you believe it?”

“This is _the_ Pirate Ace Coalition.”

“They’re folk heroes.”

“PAC-Men!”

“We’re kidnapped by heroes?”

“Taken _hostage_.”

“They have the best hostage cells.”

“I can’t wait to tell grandma!”

“Charlene will be so jealous.”

Anna exchanged a curious look with Michaela who shrugged. They all scrambled up the shiny red shingles to the aerocraft ramp and into the hold. Though small round portholes let in some dim, misty light, it was the yellow overhead lights that allowed them see enough to make their way. There were seats along either side, worn, patched, and dusty, but not uncomfortable. Anna sat and Michaela sat next to her. Anna arranged her shoulderbag on her lap more comfortably and felt the bulk of the Truename Spyglass within.

Anna looked around at their companions. There were thirteen other hostages, all in the bright robes of the bathhouse. There were seven pirates in their bulky flight suits, each armed with a blunt, crude blunderbuss, each with the head of an animal. The man with ram’s horns seemed in charge, ordering the others to take positions, close the hold, and get them out of here.

The dog-faced pirate made his way down their line of seats, making sure the harnesses attached to seats were securely buckled. Anna watched him, then found her harness and buckled it herself.

“Can you tighten this strap for me?” Michaela asked.

Anna complied.

The dog-faced pirate gave them a once over and nodded approvingly.

A high-pitched shriek cut though all other sound and Anna looked out the back of the hold. A woman stood at the doorway from the rooftop. She was short, richly appointed, and ancient. Her pure white hair was held back in an elaborate bun, being slowly undone by the whipping wind. Her white and gold skirts flapped about her stout frame. Her glistening black eyes, twice as large as normal, burned with fury and she pointed a single, long, jade-nailed finger at them. One of her golden rings sparked with magic.

The dog-faced pirate yelped, sharp and panicked.

“Punch it!” the ram-horned man shouted.

The aerocraft lurched, up and forward. One of the engines coughed. The lights flickered and buzzed and they listed strong to port. Michaela grabbed Anna’s arm. A great whirring screech filled the air and suddenly the aerocraft stood on end. The cargo-hatch was nearly closed, but through the sliver of gap, Anna could see the woman with fiery black eyes and hurricane white hair fling her hand at them like hurling a javelin. Anna was certain this was the Witch of Money and she would rather bring the aerocraft down upon her own bathhouse, hostages inside, then let pirates get away with anything.

The aerocraft roared, a great gust knocked the old woman head over heels, and bone-crushing pressure squeezed Anna’s breath from her.

**• • •**

When Anna came to, the aerocraft rumbled gently, like a great purring cat. Their flight was smooth and steady. A thick, itchy blanket covered her from shoulders to toes. She took a deep breath and a puff of dust caught in her throat and she coughed.

_Oh no. Not here…_

She coughed again, doubled over, tears came to her eyes, and she blinked rapidly. But her next, careful breath, though it tickled, did not have that tell-tale tightness of a coming asthma attack. She’d just coughed, like normal, and though it didn’t feel good, it didn’t feel awful.

Michaela put a hand on her back and rubbed gently though her t-shirt.

“Vivianna? You all right?”

Anna nodded. “Yeah.” Her voice was a little raspy, but that was it. She sat up. “Where are we?”

The cargo hold was well lit and through the portholes on the other side she could she clear blue sky and white, puffy clouds. Single-seat aeroplanes drifted alongside their aerocraft, painted in bright colors with unique symbols along their wings. There was no hint of mist or fog, just the clouds. Anna blinked at Michaela, making sure the other girl was still there. A few more tears slid down her cheeks. Michaela wiped them away.

“You sure?” Michaela asked.

Anna swallowed carefully and nodded.

Michaela leaned in and Anna could feel the warmth of her breath on her ear. Michaela pitched her voice low so it carried under the drone of the engines but not to their fellow hostages.

“According to Max, he’s the dog-faced one who captured us, we’re two hours into a four hour flight. It’d be faster, but we have to avoid Cape Lynette. The King of the City is allied with the Witch of Money and might try to shoot us down if we violate their airspace.”

Anna nodded. Based upon everything else they’d seen, it made sense. She tried to match Michaela’s tone. “And we’re hostages. But for what purpose? Is the Witch of Money supposed to want to pay to get us back? I’m pretty sure she tried to blast us before we took off.”

Michaela shrugged. “I’ve wondered that myself. Why would she pay to get us back when her ally, the King of Cape Lynette, would just blow us out of the sky? The logic seems to be that the Witch of Money hates to be robbed and will therefore capitulate, but I think there’s more going on. I tried to ask Max circumspectly, but I’m not sure he understood.”

Max came back from the cockpit and knelt in front of them. “You all right?” he called over the drone of the engines.

Anna was fascinated by the movement of his mouth. Though his canine muzzle wasn’t shaped to form the same sounds as a human’s, he managed it.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, forcing herself to quit staring at his mouth. “I’m fine.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. You two are my first ever hostages.” He grinned. “So, if you need anything feel free to ask. It’s nothing like the luxury of the Witch of Money’s bathhouse, but we take care of our hostages.”

Max continued down the line, checking on each in turn.

Michaela sighed. “I wish I’d brought my guitar. It’d help relieve the boredom.” Her fingers twitched on her lap.

“If only we’d had more time to prepare for our unexpected adventure,” Anna said.

Michaela giggled and rested her head on Anna’s shoulder. “Do you mind sharing that blanket? It’s a bit chilly.”

Anna blushed, but she shifted the blanket it so it covered them both. Soon Michaela was slumped in her seat, leaning against Anna, breath slow and deep. Anna closed her eyes and tried to quiet her thoughts. Max had promised they’d be well-treated, but they were still the prisoners of pirates. She could see no trace of fog out the windows, but they were still on this side. Who knew how long this adventure would last. So far Anna had made it home in time for dinner after every excursion through the fog. She wondered what Kenny and Sarah would think when she didn’t show up tonight. They’d been anything but overbearing, but staying out all night without warning would surely cause them worry.

Max continued to check on them at regular intervals, like an anxious puppy. About an hour later, Michaela roused from her doze. Under the watchful gaze of the animal-headed pirates, some of the other hostages got up, stretched, and wandered the aerocraft hold. They chatted with some: Kevin and Jake were newlyweds on their honeymoon; Hanna and her son Peter owned an orchard down-valley; and Geraldine, a banker in the employ of the Witch of Money, who thought none of this was amusing or exciting or interesting. Geraldine detested the Pirate Ace Coalition and spoke only in short, clipped sentences.

In a low whisper, she warned, “You can’t trust pirates. Do you know why they have features of an animal? It’s because the Witch of Money will not abide theft. Anyone who steals within her domain is cursed.” She scowled meaningfully. “The PAC-Men have a reputation for eating hostages whose ransom isn’t paid.”

Michaela gripped Anna’s arm under the blanket.

Eventually the aerocraft banked and the pig-headed pirate called above the sound of the vehicle. “We’re making our descent. Everyone make sure you’re strapped in. Once we’ve landed, please follow all directions.”

The aerocraft pitched forward. Anna cast her eyes to the cockpit and through the front window. In the distance, she could see a rocky island upon which sat a squat stone building. It reminded her of an old style castle. Sail boats roamed about the island, a few were secured to docks splayed from the island like spider legs.

What she didn’t see was any sort of landing strip.

Fear grasped at her throat until she saw one of the smaller aerocraft skimming the surface of the water before settling upon it, and gliding along like a duck.

“Anna, have you ever flown on a plane before?” Michaela’s voice was almost as tight as her grip.

“No. You?”

Michaela’s fingernails dug into her wrist. “Do you suppose landing is always this scary?”

“Could be worse,” Anna said, watching the water grow closer. “At least we’re not being shot at.”

The aerocraft picked up speed as they descended. Anna wanted to close her eyes but could not help but watch through the cockpit window. None of the pirates in the cockpit seemed concerned, so she refused to let herself panic. The aerocraft pitched backward at what to Anna seemed the last possible moment and her view swung up to the bright blue sky and its lazy clouds. When they hit the water it was more jarring than she’d expected and she was glad she had her harness secure. Michaela yelped. Then they were moving through the water, a dull roar against the hull of the craft.

They slowed and the roar of the engines dimmed and through the cockpit window Anna watched them rotate until the island fortress came into view.


	8. Improvised Dinner

With the aerocraft secured to the dock, the ram-horned man directed them to collect whatever personal belongings they had and make their way to the castle.

“And if we don’t?” Geraldine the banker demanded.

The ram-horned pirate put a hand on the butt of his firearm. “So long as you follow directions, you’re a hostage and will be well-treated. Cause trouble and you become a prisoner, and there’s a whole separate set of rules for prisoners.”

Anna and Michaela unbuckled their harnesses and got to their feet. Anna patted her shoulderbag, resting at her hip, making sure the Truename Spyglass was still where she’d tucked it.

Max escorted them down the dock. “Welcome to the Castle of the Pirate Ace Coalition. Or Castle PAC for short. Did you know it was built nearly seventy years ago by Baron Daniel Dennison as a vacation home? Weird sort of place to take a vacation isn’t it? But when it was done he refused to finish paying the workers, so the castle was sold to the King of the City. That’s King Gervase. And King Gervase turned it into a prison for air pirates.” He grinned at them, tongue lolling. “Wanna guess what happened next?”

Anna looked up at the massive stone structure sprouting from the hard stone island, then at the dog-faced pirate. “The pirates took over?”

Max laughed. “The pirates took over!”

They entered the castle through a small stone archway off the dock. From the dim antechamber, Max led them through a set of twisting rough-carved, stone hallways to a chamber with open-air windows looking over the water to a city in the distance, a glittering smudge against the horizon, and beyond that, faint purple mountains. There were cupboards and counters and basins and an oven set into one wall.

“I got you kitchen duty,” Max said with all the pride of a puppy with a tennis ball.

“Um, good?” said Michaela.

“All hostages have chores. Kitchen duty is, by far, the best,” Max said. “You don’t have to sweep or muck the bilge or anything. You get to be where the food is.”

“I don’t know how to cook,” Anna said.

“That’s all right,” said Max with a shrug. “Cookie will be along in a while. Dinner’s usually around seven, so there’s a couple hours yet.”

“Cookie?” said Michaela.

“Captain Tahoe’s personal chef. He trusts no one but Cookie to prepare his meals,” said Max. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Pirate duties you know.” The dog-headed boy hurried off.

“Oh, um…” Michaela called after him, but the dog-headed boy was already gone. She tightened the belt of her robe and cleared her throat.

“Something wrong?” asked Anna.

Michaela shrugged uncomfortably. “Well it’s just… I’m not exactly… properly dressed. I had just come out of a steam room after all.”

“Oh.” Anna blushed.

“Well, nothing I can do about it right now,” Michaela said. “Why don’t we… I don’t know… tidy up until Cookie gets here?” She gestured to the counter along the wall with the open-air windows. There were two large, stone basins set into the counter each piled high with dirty dishes. Remnants of meals were crusted on and a bevy of flies made a feast thereof.

“Gross,” said Anna. “But at least I know how to do dishes.”

Each stone basin had a handpump. It took a little doing, but soon cold, clear water poured forth.

“Where’s it come from? Do you suppose it’s a cistern?” said Michaela.

“It could be a well,” said Anna.

They found some scrubbing brushes and got to work.

Cookie did not, in fact, show up after a little bit. Or even a while after that. By the time they’d scrubbed the dishes clean and set them on and about an old wooden drying rack, nearly half an hour had passed, or so Anna reasoned.

“Now what?” said Michaela. “I really don’t have much experience in a kitchen. Though I _have_ been told my chocolate chip cookies are pretty good.”

“Why don’t you see if you can find the stuff to make cookies and I’ll look around for anything else our inexperienced hands might be able to prepare.”

Michaela tightened her robe and poked around the crowded, disorganized cupboards under the counter. Anna looked around, noting an old black stove with a flat cooktop, a pile of pots and pans, a stack of firewood, an iron door in the stone wall, and daylight slanting in from around the corner.

Anna rounded the corner to find a courtyard and in the courtyard a set of wooden boxes making a vegetable garden. She recognized tomatoes and peppers, but the rest was a mystery to her. At the end of the courtyard was a rickety wire fence housing a coup and at least two dozen chickens. They made an immediate racket when they saw her. Anna didn’t know anything about chickens, but she knew animals needed to be fed and felt certain that’s what they wanted. She lifted the lid of a wooden bin nearby and found a sack still half full of grain and a metal scoop half buried. With the chickens insistent, Anna tossed several scoops of grain into the pen.

Anna went back inside to see Michaela had collected a set of tins of various powders ranging from white to brownish-white and a basket with a few eggs.

“I could make cookies with this. I think. There’s some dried fruit, but no chocolate chips or anything.”

“Better than nothing.”

A faint chiming caught their attention. Anna looked out across the water. It rippled faintly, glittering and blue, reflecting the bright summer sky. And the glittering smudge on the horizon, Cape Lynette presumably. Anna realized it was the same chiming pattern she’d heard from the clock tower on the other side of the fog just that morning.

And at the end of the pattern, a rhythmic six chimes sounded

“Six o’clock,” Anna said.

“Dinner is in an hour,” Michaela said.

“And Cookie still isn’t here. How long does it take to bake cookies?”

“Is there even an oven?”

Anna nodded at the metal door in the wall by the black iron stove. “I think that’s an oven, but I’m pretty sure it takes a wood fire to get it going. No gas or electricity I’m guessing. They really picked the wrong girls to make them dinner.”

Michaela giggled. “Do you suppose that mean old lady was right? Will they eat us if we fail to make dinner?”

“Surely not,” said Anna, though she wasn’t certain at all. “But since the cook isn’t here, we should try to do something. I know how to cook eggs and there’s a bunch of chickens in the courtyard.”

Michaela pursed her lips “We’ve got an hour to cook eggs and cookies for thirteen hostages, seven pirates, and one cook and one captain. That’s twenty-two people. At least.”

“Let’s assume at least double the number we’ve seen. That’s, forty some people. I don’t think we’ve got enough eggs. But there’s the vegetables, I suppose.”

“Let’s start some fires.”

There were stacks of split wood in one corner with bundles of thinner bits and a pair of stones. Michaela stacked wood in the belly of the stove then clacked the stones, expertly igniting a spark. Anna was impressed and said as much. Michaela winked at her, then set a fire in the stone oven in the wall.

They collected all the eggs they could find from inside the coop, under the coop and in the corners of the pen. While Anna washed the eggs, Michaela mixed flour and whatnot into a dough. Anna picked peppers, tomatoes, and with some trepidation pulled up a few plants which turned out to be onions and garlic. She washed and chopped the vegetables before putting a little oil in a mostly clean pan and setting the pan on the stove. The oil sizzled after a while.

“I think I’m ready to cook,” Anna said.

“And I think the dough is ready to bake,” said Michaela.

Anna cracked eggs and mixed them with the chopped vegetables while Michaela set out scoops of dough on metal sheets. After a while, Anna realized she had too much food for one pan and oiled a second.

“Who’s cooking in my kitchen!”

Anna started and turned to the entryway, spatula held in front of her like an talisman. A thunderous grouch emerged from the. He was taller than any man Anna had seen before. He had a great bushy beard, thick hair on his arms and poking from the collar of his shirt. His eyebrows were shrubs clinging to the cliff of his face. Even his ears sprouted hair like crabgrass. And all of it was cobalt blue against sun-dark skin. His height was matched by his barrel chest and he moved with a faint, shuffling limp. If he’d been cursed with the head of an animal, Anna couldn’t figure out which one.

“Who are you?” he demanded, voice filling the room.

“Hostages,” Anna said. “We were assigned to the kitchen. It’s nearly seven and you weren’t here, so…”

The giant man sniffed, stumped to a nearby cabinet, opened it with a bang, and withdrew a large wooden spoon. He advanced upon Anna who backed up quickly, ready to react should he take a swing at her. Instead, he prodded at her scrambled eggs, then took some in his spoon and brought it to his face. He inhaled slowly and his enraged expression eased. He put the food in his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed.

“Well then. Not bad.” He pointed the spoon at Michaela who backed up several steps. “What have you got in my oven?”

“Cookies,” Michaela said quickly. “Um, I couldn’t find chocolate chips, so I used the dried fruit. I hope that was all right.”

“Which dried fruit?” Less angry, more curious.

“A bit of each.”

“Huh.”

Anna couldn’t be sure through the thudding of her heart, but she thought she heard the chimes across the bay ringing.

“It’s seven o’clock,” she said. “Dinner’s going to be late.”

“Bah!” The giant man waved his hand. “Dinner’s always late. It’s tradition.” He took a few moments more, deliberating, before he said, “All right then. Scrambled eggs for dinner, cookies for dessert.” He stomped to another drawer and withdrew a large wrapped package, diminutive in his hands. “And bacon,” he said. “Scrambled eggs need bacon.”

Anna and Michaela got over their fear of the man, who eventually introduced himself as Cookie, as he continued to complement their efforts while directing them about the kitchen efficiently. Less than half an hour later, they had several piles of scrambled eggs with chopped vegetables; stacks of crispy, greasy bacon; fluffy pancakes with jugs of syrup; a large wedge of cheese with a knife stuck through its middle; and plates of mixed-berry cookies.

Cookie roared incomprehensibly down the hallway and moments later animal-headed pirates in grease-stained work clothes and hostages in simple garb came in to carry the plates from the kitchen.

“Haven’t had good help in a while. You’ll come back in the morning?”

“Sure,” said Anna, looking at Michaela.

Michaela nodded. “I don’t know much about cooking though, Mr. Cookie.”

He grunted. “You did fine on your own and you follow directions well. Come on, let’s have dinner. “

They followed the giant down the hall to a massive dining hall. There were two long wooden tables and several small round tables all festooned with mismatched chairs, plates, and cutlery. Jugs of beverage were passed around in equal measure as the food. True to promise, the hostages weren’t passed over for food. Everyone was allowed as much as they wanted, and everyone had plenty of food piled on their plates.

Anna noted they’d done a decent job of estimating the number of people as there were just under thirty-some pirates. At pride of place was a tall, fox-headed individual with dark-lidded eyes and a smooth smile and orange hair to match his fox fur pulled into a multitude of braids festooned with gold and gems. Captain Tahoe was a svelte, pretty man wearing a bright red coat done in silver embroidery, a long-handled sword at his hip and a ring on every finger.

When he noticed Anna looking at him, he smiled and nodded. “Ladies and gentlemen, let us not forget our distinguished guests this evening, your cooperation and patience is appreciated.”

He bowed with a flourish and the Pirate Ace Coalition, some still in flight gear, some in worn t-shirts and jeans, some in tattoos and shorts, hooted and hollered and cheered.

Anna ended up with a mug before her. It was bitter and smelled funky, but there was nothing else to drink, so she tried it.

“Little girls shouldn’t drink beer.”

Anna blinked at Geraldine, the cranky banker sitting across the table from her.

“I think I’ll make that determination myself, thanks,” Anna snapped back.

The bacon was salty, the eggs were pretty good, and the cookies were downright wonderful. Anna managed to get herself two and washed it all down with a few swallows of beer, pointedly not looking at Geraldine.

There didn’t seem to be any formal end to dinner. When folks were done, they picked up their plates and carried them to the kitchen. So when Michaela nudged her, Anna nodded and they followed suit. They were quickly joined by Max, eager as ever.

“Good job with dinner tonight. Cookie likes you. He wants you back in the morning.”

“Excellent,” said Anna.

“I can show you to your room. There’s extra clothes if you want to change, but laundry’s on your own time. No word yet on your ransom, but the Witch of Money has been made aware of our demands.”

He led them through the castle to a long stone corridor with curtains hung at regular intervals. He stopped at one and pushed it aside.

“Um, sorry,” he said. “I thought I could get you bunk beds, but…”

The room was bare stone floor, walls, and ceiling with a window looking over the ocean away from the city. In a walled off nook was a modern toilet with a curtain for privacy. There was an armless wooden chair with a worn, patched cushion tied to the seat. There was a plain wooden chest of drawers that had been painted, worn, and repainted several times. And there was a single bed. It was wide enough for two, especially if the two were as skinny as Anna and Michaela. There were two pillows and two blankets.

Anna set her shoulderbag on the chest, the Truename Spyglass thunking against the wood. She looked at Max who winced and looked away. She looked at Michaela who bit her lip and looked at Max.

Anna nodded. “It’s all right, buddy. You got us the best job in the castle, other than being a pirate of course, and Michaela and I, we’re friends. We can share a bed.”

Max heaved a sigh of relief, slumping with the effort. “Good. I was afraid you’d be mad at me.” He bid them good night and pattered off.

“If you like,” said Anna, “I could take the chair.”

“No,” said Michaela. “It… it’s fine. I’ve never shared a bed before, but… I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Okay,” said Anna.

“Okay,” said Michaela.

Anna looked away, blushing, to find Geraldine standing in the doorway, arms crossed firmly.

“I suppose you two are comfortable. Everyone else seems to think this is a lark. I’d hoped for a bit more common sense amongst my fellow prisoners.”

Anna glanced at Michaela who glanced at her and they both turned their attention to Geraldine.

“I’m talking about escape, of course,” Geraldine said. “I know they can be charming and they make all sorts of promises. Outlaws, thieves, murderers. We need to escape.”

“Do you have a plan?” Anna asked.

Geraldine straightened and gave almost a hint of a smile. “Well, not yet. Except to say we should all keep our eyes and ears open for an opportunity.”

“We are on an island,” Michaela said. “I don’t know anything about sailing or flying. Do you?”

Geraldine frowned.

“We should be careful,” Michaela continued. “If it’s obvious we’re thinking of escape, we’ll be transferred from the hostage cells to the prison cells and, for right now at least…”

Geraldine nodded. “Sensible. As one of her bankers, I’m valuable to Lady Sabina. Once she’s negotiated my freedom, if you’ve been valuable to me, I’ll see to it you’re released as well.” She left with a small, self-satisfied smile.

Anna closed the curtain after her.

“Does she seems all that clever to you?” Michaela asked in a low whisper.

Anna snorted. “Miss Geraldine is only looking out for herself and is trying to convince everyone else to do so as well.”

There were extra clothes in the chest of drawers. Anna turned her back to change into one of the provided nightgowns as Michaela did the same.

Michaela sighed. “It feels good to be wearing something I don’t have to be afraid will fall open at any moment.”

Anna blushed.

“Which side do you want?” Michaela asked.

Anna shrugged. “No idea. I’d think being next to the wall would be uncomfortable.”

“I like it,” said Michaela. “At home, my bed’s against the wall.”

“Okay.”

They climbed into bed, Michaela first, and when they lay side by side on their backs, each with their own blanket and pillow, there was an inch or so of clearance between their shoulders and another between Anna and the edge.

“She’s not wrong you know,” Michaela said. “Admittedly, Max _is_ a very good boy and Cookie is only slightly terrifying, and Captain Tahoe is… enthralling. But we should think about how we’re going to get away. I didn’t get the impression the Witch of Money is especially generous. While Geraldine might be valuable to her, I very much doubt we are. Plus, my parents will worry and Baba… Baba will be angry.”

Anna nodded. “Kenny and Sarah have been very kind to me. I don’t want to worry them. My… Violet, well, Violet does nothing but worry, but she does her best and I don’t want to make things hard for her.”

“You know,” said Michaela, “there is another option. Rather than attempting escape or waiting around, we could… join the pirates.”

Anna turned on her side to look at the other girl and Michaela did the same. Their noses only inches apart.

“Are you serious? Do you know how to fly a plane?”

“No, but I’ll bet I could I learn. Cookie and Max already like us. Maybe there’s an internship or something.”

Anna laughed. “Yeah, maybe.”

Michaela’s dark eyes shone like rubies in the last of the light from the window. Her skin was velvet shadows and bright peaks. Her great mass of auburn curls, which she’d pulled from their tight bun, draped over her shoulder and massed into an ocean on the bed behind her.

Anna swallowed hard.

Michaela sighed and flopped onto her back. “Good night, Vivianna.”

“Good night, Michaela.”


	9. Pirate Castle

Life at Castle PAC wasn’t awful. If she hadn’t been the hostage of pirates, Anna might have found it pleasant. She and Michaela woke at dawn and made their way to the communal showers. There were five private stalls on either side of the ceramic-tiled room, three of which still had privacy curtains. Anna had always managed to avoid showering with her peers after gym class, so she was thankful for the modicum of privacy and resolved to wake early every day, especially as the shower room was unisex.

Then they made their way to the kitchen where they washed the dishes from the night before, collected eggs, and waited for Cookie. Breakfast was at seven sharp, or whenever Cookie was damn well good and ready.

Cookie didn’t bother with lunch because, “They’re big boys. They can fend for themselves.” Anyway, the pirates were usually out flying, on the town, or some such. Besides, it was too hot in the kitchen to cook. Which left Anna and Michaela with plenty of free time in the middle of the day, even after they’d washed the breakfast dishes.

They wandered the castle, Anna making sure to bring her shoulderbag with its pens, pencils, notebook, and Truename Spyglass. They found the pirates’ quarters, a set of corridors filled with rough housing, drunken snores, and a distinct funk that had them both turning to leave immediately. They found a large room open to the water on one side filled with aeroplane midrepair. They found an old chapel, dusty, abandoned, and filled with junk.

Michaela plucked from that junk a battered old guitar. She strummed it gently, turned tuning keys hesitantly, then strummed again.

“Still works. If only… Ah ha!” She grabbed a strap of leather from the junk and attached it to the guitar. “You think anyone would mind if I took this?”

“They’re pirates. I think they’d be more offended if you didn’t steal from them.”

Michaela grinned.

Michaela was plucking a melody when they found an open arched doorway to a set of stairs where stood a burly woman with a blunderbuss at her hip.

“Captain’s tower,” she said without prompting. “No visitors.”

“That’s a shame,” said Michaela. “I was hoping to see the view.”

The woman shrugged and pointed. “The tower over that way is unoccupied.”

It was a quarter of an hour twisting through hallways before they found the other tower. The stairs were narrow, worn, and tightly spiraled. There was no handrail, so they made their way carefully. When the emerged at the top of the tower, they found themselves on a flat, circular platform nearly ten feet in diameter, protected by a half wall of rough-cut stone.

The wind caught at their hair and plucked at their clothes.

“Wow,” said Michaela. “the view really is nice.”

Across the bay dotted with sail boats and aeroplanes, they could clearly see the city. It was large and bright and spread up from the docks in a series of terraces. A large domed building stood at the back center. Surely it was the palace of the King of the City. Anna wished she knew more about the King of the City. There’d been talk of his alliance with the Witch of Money, Sabina. She wished she knew how the feud between the sisters was progressing. Had war broken out? Or perhaps Ivan’s half-brother had been found.

She pulled the True Name Spyglass from her shoulderbag, extended it, and looked over the bay at the city. It worked as it should, bringing the city into sharp focus. She could make out individual shingles on buildings, individual people wandering the streets, she could even see through the windows of buildings and into the rooms within.

“See anything magical?” Michaela asked as she tuned her new guitar.

Anna lowered the spyglass and looked at the other girl.

Michaela sat with her back against the halfwall, one knee up, one leg extended, curls swaying in the breeze. Her attention was on the guitar.

Anna raised the spyglass and looked at Michaela through it. Michaela was too close to get a good look at her, but she definitely didn’t look like a ghost.

“Just you,” Anna replied, lowering the spyglass again.

Michaela clutched at her guitar and looked down. It was difficult to tell against her dark skin, but Anna thought Michaela was blushing. Then she realized what she’d said.

“That is… I mean… At least you’re not a ghost.”

Michaela looked up sharply, expression unreadable.

“I mean… okay. I know you said we should be careful of the magic, that it might go away if we think about it too hard, but I haven’t seen any fog since leaving Glenwood and yet, here we are in a pirate castle, together. I don’t think it’s going to go away just talking about it.”

Michaela nodded. “All right. What are you getting at?”

Anna hesitated. “Could I… Could I sit with you?”

Michael smiled at her. “Of course.”

Anna sat on Michaela’s right to avoid the neck of the guitar. She sat close, so their shoulders almost touched.

“I was in the old City Hall because the basement is a records room. They’ve got the whole history of Glenwood there. I was trying to find the name Agayabab. I didn’t find anything, it was a long shot anyway. I did, however, find the name of the people who built the house across the vale. Mr. and Mrs. Madigan. They had a daughter. Is that you? Are you Michaela Madigan?”

Michael nodded. “Yes. But why would you think I’m a ghost?”

“Because that was sixty years ago. The girl was fifteen then and you don’t look seventy-five years old to me.”

Michaela giggled. “Maybe I’ve aged well.”

“Like a fine wine?”

“Or cheese. I think I prefer cheese.”

They both laughed, Anna with relief. She’d been afraid Michaela would be mad at her.

“So, you’re from the future, huh?” Michaela said.

Anna shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Since we’re bursting magic bubbles, I should tell you, I’m just as afraid you’re a dream as you are that I’m a ghost.”

Anna nudged her. “Or seventy five.”

“Vivianna, after every one of our adventures, I wake up in bed. And Glenwood isn’t some mountain town. My house is in a _suburb_ called Glenwood.”

“Oh,”

“Every time I see you, it’s like waking up. But when we separate…” Michaela strummed her stolen guitar gently.

“Is Baba just a nightmare?”

Michaela shook her head, Auburn curls falling in front of her eyes.

“And you parents?”

“Out of town for the next two months. The bathhouse trip was a dream.”

“So, you’re a ghost and I’m a dream.”

“Or we’re from parallel dimensions. How did Ivan put it?”

“Same shelf, different books. Or, Glenwood isn’t all that uncommon a name. Maybe we just need to look for each other in the real world.”

“To do that, we’ll have to get back to the real world.”

**• • •**

Max was the junior most pirate with the PAC. He was often busy, but he was certain to check up on them when he could. He found them in the kitchen courtyard after dishes a few morning after their capture.

Through the spyglass, Max was a boy not much older than them, if that. He had light brown skin with dark freckles, soft grey eyes, a shaggy moptop, and an earnest expression.

“What’s that?” he asked

Anna showed him the spyglass hesitantly. “It was my father’s. I like to keep it with me, to remind me of him. You’re not gonna take it, are you?”

“Why would I do that?” Max cocked his head.

“You’re a pirate.”

“We’re the Pirate Ace Coalition. We have rules.” Then he looked thoughtful. “Just to be safe, keep that tucked away.”

For the most part they did not interact with the pirates. The members of the Pirate Ace Coalition had duties to attend; there were supply runs and negotiations, maintenance and training, this and that. And those duties largely involved not being in the castle, or at least not in those parts where the hostages whiled away their days.

But during breakfast and dinner they ate together in the same large dining hall, mumbly during breakfast, raucous during dinner. The hostages all sat together at one of the long tables and the pirates let them be. After a few days, the rest of the hostages seemed less enamored of their kidnapping adventure.

“How long does it take to pay a ransom?”

“She is, after all, the Witch of Money.”

“It shouldn’t be difficult to secure our release.”

“What kind of customer service is this?”

“I tried to tell you,” Geraldine said with an air of superiority.

“Well, she hasn’t gotten you out yet either,” said Peter, the young orchardist.

They kept their conversation to low whispers. Anna hadn’t said anything yet, but she started developing a plan of escape. She didn’t like the idea of abandoning the other hostages, but her idea probably only worked for her and Michaela, which is why she hadn’t said anything.

“Oy! Bring us that plate of cookies.”

Anna looked around to find a pig-headed pirate in a tanktop and oil-stained overalls with one strap missing. The skin of his arms was pink with black and grey mottles. He sat next to a badger-headed man of similar portliness in a holey t-shirt and jeans.

“Come get them yourself,” Geraldine snapped. “We’re not your servants.”

The pig-headed man snorted and pounded his fist on the table. None of the other pirates took notice over the usual cacophony of dinner.

“I said bring ‘em! You’re only protected if you do what you’re told.”

Anna looked around for help, Max perhaps, or Cookie, but she saw no sign of the dog-headed boy, the giant cook was on the other side of the room with Captain Tahoe, and no one else was looking at them. Except, when her eyes lit upon the fox-headed captain, he held a goblet to his face, expression hidden. She couldn’t tell if he was watching them.

“It’s all right,” said Michaela. “I’ve got it.” She picked up the plate of cookies, cinnamon and sugar this time, and carried it to the table where the portly pirates sat, leaning over to set it down. Anna bristled when she realized the men ogled her.

“Thank you, darling,” said the badger-headed man. Though his face wasn’t human, it was easy to see he was leering.

“Of course,” said Michaela. She turned to rejoin the hostages.

The pig-headed man smacked Michaela’s backside hard enough Anna heard it over the din, enough Michaela jumped and squeaked and hurried back to her chair. The men laughed and partook of the cookies.

“Are you hurt?” Anna asked.

Michaela cleared her throat nervously. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes it is,” said Anna. “I’m…”

“No. You’ll just make it worse.”

“You’re damn right I will.”

“They want a reaction. If we ignore them, they’ll just go away.”

“In my experience, that’s not how bullies work.” Anna’s mind flashed to the art museum, snide whispers, and thrown erasers. 

“Vivianna, they’re pirates and we’re hostages. Please, don’t make things worse.”

“What’s that?” said Geraldine. Even trying to be quiet, her tone was sharp and intrusive.

“Nothing,” said Michaela. She looked at Anna.

Anna nodded. “Yeah, just, you know, some people can be incredibly rude.”

“We’ll be lucky if that’s the least they are,” Geraldine groused.

Under the din, Anna leaned in toward Michaela. “I’ve got an idea. For escape. We’ll talk after lights out?”

Michaela took a deep breath and nodded.

“Oy! Bring us some of that, uh, the rest of that cheese.”

Anna didn’t have to look to know it was the pig-headed man again. She looked around at the rest of the hostages, none of whom looked up, none of whom looked ready to deliver the plate with the scrap of cheese wedge. She cast her gaze about the rest of the room, still uncertain whether Captain Tahoe was watching her or staring off into space.

“Oy!” The pig-headed man pounded his fist on his table.

Michaela sighed, but Anna stood and snatched up the plate.

“Vivianna, please.”

Anna’s blood coursed, her skin tingled, she didn’t know what she was going to do, but she knew she wasn’t going to let Michaela suffer that particular indignity again. She carried the ceramic plate to the table, feeling the weight of it. The men scooted aside to make room for her, effectively forcing her to stand between them to set it down. There was no space on the edge, so she’d have to lean forward.

“Here.” She held it out to the pig-headed man.

“Oh, set it down for us, sweetums,” he said in a tone she recognized. It was the tone of every bully who’d ever pretended to be nice in front of a teacher. He patted the table, as though inviting.

“Sure.” She leaned forward to set the plate down, knowing what was coming, like an eraser to the back of the ear.

A thick palm smacked her backside.

Anna gripped tight the edge of the plate, but she took a moment. She took a moment to decide whether or not this was really what she wanted to do. If she wanted to cause a scene, to fight back, to stand up for herself. It wasn’t what she usually did.

She took a breath.

While the men laughed, she turned, plate in hand, and smashed it against the side of the pig-man’s head as hard as she could. The plate cracked in three pieces. The cheese bounced and splatted upon the table. The pig-headed man squealed, a cut upon his forehead, a few droplets glistening in the air. Silence rippled through the room. Anna could only hear her own angry breathing. She glared at the pig-headed man, a third of a plate in either hand.

The badger-headed man grabbed her from behind, wrapping his burly arms around her chest, pinning her thin arms and lifting her off the floor. She let go the bits of plate and grabbed at the man’s arm, trying to make him let go, but it was like grabbing at a tree-trunk. Shouting filled the room, but Anna could make no sense of any of it. The badger-man squeezed her tight as the pig-man stood up. He grabbed the front of her borrowed dress and raised his other hand in a fist.

“Let her go!”

Though Anna’s eyes were fixed to the furious, mustachioed expression of the pig-man’s broad face, she could just see Michaela shove the pig-man as hard as she could. The pig-man barely moved.

“Easy, little girl,” the pig-man said. “I’m just gonna teach your boyfriend here a lesson in manners.” He shoved Michaela and the girl stumbled back.

“Back off, Tony,” Max’s voice was edged with a growl. He came around from behind the badger-man, blunderbuss drawn,

“Go away, kid, this is grownup business,” the badger-man growled.

“These are my hostages,” Max said. “No one else is to touch them.” He put the barrel of his weapon against the pig-man’s chest, just under his ribs.

The pig-man’s expression turned surprised then angry then frightened.

“Easy now, Max,” said the pig-man. “There’s no need to be like this. You know how hostages can get out of hand sometimes.”

“You’re not supposed hassle hostages,” Max said. “That’s the rule.”

A new voice joined the party. “Well, this has all been very interesting, but let’s put our toys away and try to behave like adults.” Captain Tahoe came into view and put a hand on Max’s shoulder.

Max nodded. “Yes, sir,” and holstered his blunderbuss.

The badger-man put Anna on her feet. She stumbled and took a deep breath. Her vision was fuzzy, her balance unsteady.

“What do you have to say for yourself, boys?” Captain Tahoe continued.

Anna took several steps back, then Michaela was there with an arm around her shoulders.

“Are you hurt?” Michaela whispered.

Anna shook her head.

“I was just protecting my hostages, like you said I should,” Max said.

“And you, Anthony? Robert?”

“He smashed a plate across my face, Captain,” the pig-man said, pointing to the cut on his forehead, still bleeding.

“Hmm. Yes.”

“I demand punishment,” The pig-man shouted, looking around the room for support. There was some grumbling from the crowd.

The captain lazily put a hand upon the handle of his sword. “You demand?”

Tony cleared his piggy throat. “Uh, that is, I request, Captain, this hostage be transferred to the brig. He assaulted me.”

The captain nodded thoughtfully. “Max, take your hostages to my office. We’ll discuss this there.”

“Come on,” Max said in an undertone. “Let’s go.”

He led them from the dining hall. Captain Tahoe stayed with the pirates.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” Michaela said.

“Captain Tahoe is a fair captain,” Max said.

“That doesn’t mean we’re not in trouble,” Anna said. She looked down at her hands, still shaking.

“Yeah,” said Max. “Well… yeah.”

They walked in silence to the base of the tower Anna and Michaela had found a few days ago. The same burly woman stood at the entrance. She gave them a look.

“Captain said I’m to take these hostages up to his room. There’s been… an incident.”

The woman grunted and stepped aside and they walked up the narrow, winding, stone stairs to a room much nicer than Anna would have thought. A large wooden desk stood in the center of the room, intricately carved and well-polished, upon a lavish, brightly colored carpet. Large windows of stained glass looked out over the ocean and a mid-summer sunset. A large, high-backed, throne-like chair stood on the far side of the desk.

“Now what?” Anna asked.

“Now we wait,” Max said.

Anna looked at Michaela. “Are you all right?”

Michaela crossed her arms, expression tight. “I didn’t need you to interfere.”

Anna bit her lip. She’d been afraid when the badger-man had grabbed her, anxious when Captain Tahoe had sent them to his office, but it was nothing compared to what she felt now. Michaela was angry with her.

“I…”

“I had it handled,” Michaela said.

“By letting them bully you?”

“I’ve dealt with bullies before.”

“Well I haven’t. All I’ve ever done is keep my head down, or tell a teacher, or just let it happen. I wasn’t interfering, Michaela, I was standing up for myself. For all of us. I’ve never stood up to a bully before.”

“What if they hurt you? What if they did worse? I can’t stand to lose you!”

“Yeah? Well, I can’t stand to see someone treating you like that.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

The tread of boots on stone made them all turn to find Captain Tahoe had arrived. His presence filled the room. He took off his jacket, sky blue with gold embroidery, unbuckled his sword belt, and hung both upon a coat stand behind the desk, leaving him in a sleeveless, black silk shirt and loose red and white striped pants. He didn’t wear shoes leaving his fox paws bare. He swished his tail and sat in the chair behind the desk.

“All right, ladies, I take it one of those cads put his hands upon you?”

Anna nodded, relieved at Captain Tahoe’s tone.

“At which point you,” he pointed at Anna, “Took it upon yourself to strike one of my men.”

Anna cleared her throat. “Yes, sir.”

The captain leaned forward, expression mild as though listening to a vaguely entertaining tale.

“And why did you decide to do that, young lady?” His voice shifted, a bit higher, a bit softer, and this close up, Anna could see the captain’s fox-face was rounder than she’d thought. His bare shoulders seemed slimmer and he smelled faintly of vanilla. Anna wondered if she’d miscategorized Captain Tahoe.

Anna cleared her throat. “I’ve met people like them, in school. I’ve tried just ignoring it, hoping they’d go away. Sometimes it works, but sometimes it doesn’t. I wanted to show strength. Among pirates, I thought that would be appreciated.” She glanced at Michaela. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you.”

“So, you did it for your lover,” the captain said with a hint of interest.

Anna blushed so fast tears welled in her eyes.

“No,” said Michaela. “She did it for herself. I’ve dealt with people like that too, and they want the attention. They think it’s funny, and it just makes things worse the next time.” She crossed her arms firmly.

The captain nodded. “Very well. Forty lashes and a night in the brig.”

Anna’s knees went weak and she stumbled back.

“What?” said Michaela. “No.” She interposed herself between Anna and Captain Tahoe.

The captain sat up and put his long, slim-fingered hands upon the desk. “Excuse me? You object? I thought you wanted her to not get involved.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Michaela said.

“Um… Michaela? Maybe don’t talk to the captain like that?” Max said.

“It’s all right, Max. I want to hear what she has to say.” The Captain grinned, small, sharp teeth exposed.

“Max says you’re a good, fair person. You’ve already admitted your men behaved inappropriately. So why threaten us with beating and imprisonment?”

“It takes two to tango,” said the captain.

Anna had always hated that phrase. She heard it from authority figures often when she complained of being harassed.

“We weren’t dancing,” Michaela replied.

Anna took a breath and found her balance. “Perhaps I acted poorly, but I’m done letting people treat me like that without responding.”

The captain nodded. Anna held her breath.

After several moments, he said, “Extra kitchen duties. My personal chef goes on a supply run tomorrow. You’ll accompany him. Max, go tell Cookie he’ll have help tomorrow.”

Max saluted. “Yes, sir,” and hurried from the office.

Captain Tahoe watched him go with a faint smile. “He really is a good boy-o.”

Anna looked at Michaela who looked at her, puzzled.

“All right, girls, here’s the thing. The Witch of Money isn’t going to pay your ransom. We’ve been in negotiations and she will pay for the others, it’s part of her customer service policy, but she says the two of you aren’t in her records of having been customers.”

Anna glanced at Michaela.

“Furthermore, the fine gentleman who hired us to kidnap the lot of you in the first place has made himself scarce. Which means the two of you a have become a liability. And now this,” he gestured broadly. Captain Tahoe looked at them steadily.

“You want us to leave,” Anna said.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” said Captain Tahoe. “I am in no way encouraging you to escape tomorrow when you accompany Cookie on his supply run to the city. To do so would be a breach of the pirate hostage relationship.” He opened a drawer, withdrew a small paper envelope, and pushed it across the desk.

Anna stepped up to the desk and took the envelope. Inside were a pair of red and gold train tickets. There was no specific date or destination, instead they were labeled as open-ended.

“I see,” said Anna. She tucked the envelope into her shoulderbag where her fingers brushed against the Truename Spyglass. “May I ask you a question, Captain Tahoe?”

The captain smiled, showing off his small, sharp teeth. “You may _ask_.”

“You said the _gentleman_ who hired you: we’ve been assuming it was the Witch of Puppets who orchestrated the kidnapping as part of their feud.”

Captain Tahoe shrugged. “A witch can be a man.”

“I suppose so, but unless the vocabulary on this side of the fog is much different, a sister is a woman and as I understand it, Yulana the Witch of Puppets is the sister of Sabina, the Witch of Money. All of which suggests it was not her who hired you.”

Captain Tahoe spread his hands and shrugged. “If you say so, young lady. You haven’t actually asked a question yet.”

“We made a promise,” Anna said. She looked at Michaela and Michaela nodded. “We promised to help find Oscar Agayabab. I’m sure you’re aware it’s his disappearance that’s re-sparked the feud between witches. Maybe if we knew who hired you, we could figure out who’s responsible for Oscar Agayabab’s disappearance.”

“And why would I want Oscar Agayabab found? I’m a pirate. I thrive on discord and chaos.”

Anna nodded. “I can understand that, but you also rely on the city for supply runs. If the region devolves into anarchy, who’s going to sell you basic goods? Who’s going to grow crops or raise livestock? For that matter, who’s going to be rich enough to warrant kidnapping and ransom? You may thrive on discord, Captain Tahoe, but you still require the basic underpinnings of society.”

The captain chuckled, a high, merry sound. “Ladies Yulana and Sabina are over a hundred years old and have hated each other for most of that time. You really think you can get them to stop fighting?”

“I don’t know,” said Anna. “But I should at least try to help.” She wrapped her hand around the Truename Spylgass and withdrew it from her shoulderbag.

Captain Tahoe leaned forward over his desk. “Well now. That’s a pretty bauble.”

“It’s called the Truenname Spyglass. Have you heard of it?”

The fox-headed pirate captain raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re showing your, hand, young miss. Why?”

“Because you know more than you’re letting on,” said Anna. “You know who hired you and why. I’m showing you this because Ivan Agayabab seemed to think this thing could help find Oscar. And I think you want an eventual resolution to this conflict. I think you want it more than you want a pretty bauble.

“So here’s my question, Captain Tahoe: who hired you to kidnap us?”

Captain Tahoe sat back in his chair, resting his hands on thick-cushioned arms.

“It would be a breach of contract to give you that information. But, I must say, you’ve the right of it. All out war would be good for business for a time, but in the aftermath, privateers and bounty hunters become pirates and outlaws, scapegoats for resultant ills. So, I’ll tell you what, young miss. Give me your word you’ll make good use of those tickets you’ve found, that bauble you hold, and answer me one question. Do that, and I’ll give you the information you’ve asked for.”

Anna looked at Michaela.

“We can do that,” Michaela said.

“And your question, Captain?” Anna asked.

The captain pointed at the Truename Spyglass. “What do you see when you look through that thing at me?”

Anna extended the spyglass, took several steps back, and looked at Captain Tahoe through it. She saw Captain Tahoe from the chest up. The captain’s head wasn’t covered in the fine black and orange fur of a fox, no pointed fox ears or muzzle, no whiskers, no sharp teeth. Instead she saw the features of a young woman, or a soft-featured man. She had titled, bright blue eyes and sharp cheek bones, straight, glossy black hair falling to her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and flawless. Anna handed the spyglass to Michaela.

“Well?”

“Blue eyes, black hair, high cheekbones…” said Anna.

“You are as beautiful in human form as you are in fox,” said Michaela.

The captain raised her eyebrows and laughed. “I’ve already granted you freedom, young lady. There’s no need for flattery. What I want to know is, do you see a man, or a woman?”

Michaela lowered the spyglass, collapsed it, and handed it to Anna, who tucked it away. The girls looked at each other.

Michaela gave a small shrug. “Honestly, captain, I’m not sure. What were you expecting?”

The captain shook his head. “The man you’re looking for is Bridgeford, the Minister of War for the Witch of Money. I don’t know why or if he’s working for someone else. Now, off with you. And try to look properly chastened. Imagine I gave you both a thorough thrashing.” The captain stood and went to the window behind his desk.


	10. Quiet Escape

They crossed the placid water of the bay between Castle PAC and Cape Lynette in a metal boat powered by what appeared to be a repurposed motor from one of the single-seater planes they'd seen buzzing around the castle. Cookie sat at the back of the boat, controlling the motor with a lever and rudder. When they got to the other side, the girls helped Cookie unload a bunch of empty sacks and crates onto a waiting cart. Cookie handed the boy waiting with the cart something. The boy saluted and scurried off.

"Thank you for your help today, ladies," Cookie said. "I don't mind doing it by myself, but it can be a bit lonesome."

They followed Cookie up from the docks into the city of Cape Lynette proper. It was early still and the streets were fairly empty. Anna noted a siamese cat-headed woman in a conservative beige dress making her way down a cross-street.

"I suppose not all animal-folk are pirates," Anna said.

"Of course not," said Cookie. "And not all pirates are animal-folk. That curse the Witch of Money has put on folks is..." He shook his head darkly.

The streets were spacious, well paved with smooth flat stones, even this close to the docks. The buildings were constructed of the same sturdy stone and covered in murals and mosaics, roofed in shiny, colorful tile. They made their way past warehouses and fish markets. Cookie pointed to one in particular, a short old man with wrinkled skin, a bald pate, and thick black eyebrows. The old man gave Cookie a nod.

"Master Tua is the greatest fisherman alive. He'll be our last stop out. He always saves me something good."

They climbed a set of stairs to the next terrace, a largely residential district, and then into the next, amongst quiet shops, some of which made ready to open for the day.

"The trick, you see, is to buy direct from the producers if you can: orchardists, farmers, millers, fishermen and the like. You get the best food for the best prices and you cultivate relationships, which is always better in the long run."

Cookie pulled a packet from his breast pocket including a dainty set of reading glasses. He perched the glasses upon his nose, unfolded the packet, and read what was scrawled there.

"This way, ladies." Cookie pulled the cart on two long poles behind him as the girls walked alongside.

Anna had her shoulderbag with her, as always, and she frequently touched it, noting the bulge of the Truename Spyglass next to which was the envelope containing their train tickets. They'd decided before setting out that morning not to discuss their escape anywhere near where Cookie could hear. Michaela was convinced Cookie wouldn't stop them, that he was probably in on their escape, but Anna wanted to be cautious. Besides if Captain Tahoe simultaneously discouraged escape while giving them train tickets, Cookie would likely want the deniability.

The city of Cape Lynette was bustling once things got started. It was a decent place, the streets were clean, the people were polite if brusque, and cobalt-uniformed policemen patrolled regularly.

"Don't worry about them," Cookie said. "We've a truce with the King of the City."

They spent the next few hours watching Cookie haggle in a firm if friendly way with merchants, all of whom he knew by name, then helping him load whatever he'd bought into the cart. There were sacks of turnips and potatoes, beats and carrots, several cartons of eggs packed in straw, oranges and bananas, bacon packed in salt and jerked beef.

"All right, ladies, this next merchant can be a bit of a stickler. Not terribly friendly. She doesn't like new people. It will..." He cleared his throat. "It'll take a bit and I'll need you to wait here. With the cart. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," said Anna.

"It's been nice," said Michaela. "You know, to get out of the castle."

Cookie grinned at them. "All right. Shouldn't take more than an hour." He went into the small spice shop. A bell rang above his head. He closed the door firmly behind him and Anna heard a lock click closed. Through the windows the girls looked into the shop to see a tall, older woman emerge from the back and grin broadly at Cookie. She extended her hand and Cookie took it and they walked into the back together.

Michaela looked at Anna. "Unfriendly, huh?"

Anna grinned. "None of our business to go assuming anything."

Michaela grinned back.

"Besides, if you're right, and he's in on it, he's giving us the perfect opportunity."

Michaela nodded. "So, we find the train station. You've noticed the signs I take it?"

The streets of Cape Lynette were meticulously marked in well-stenciled green and white signs. Occasionally those street signs were accompanied by another sign directing the way to points of interest: Public Library, Sherwood Park, and in bright red and gold: Lynette Train Station.

Anna nodded. "There was one a few blocks back."

Both girls looked through the window again. There was no sign of Cookie or the woman.

"You're sure you've got the tickets?"

Anna put her hand in her bag and withdrew the envelope. She opened it to reveal two red and gold tickets.

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Let's go."

It didn't take long. Between the clear street signs and the simple layout of the city, ten minutes later, the girls found themselves a block away from a long, low building with gold trim and red-tiled roof. The front door was flanked by a pair of stone lions. Anna smiled. She found she was eager to return to her side of the fog, to sleep in her bed, to see Kenny and Sarah again.

"Wait," Michaela grabbed her arm.

Anna faced the other girl. "It's okay, we'll find each other," she said, feeling more certain than she thought she would.

"Not that," said Michaela. "Don't look, but I just saw Max."

Anna bit her tongue on a curse and forced herself to keep her eyes on Michaela's, deep brown and shining. "What do we do?" Anna asked.

"Walk away. We know where the station is, the lettering on the door said the train arrives at eleven, so we've got an hour or so anyway." She took Anna's arm firmly and they turned their backs on the train station. They walked down the block and turned the corner uphill, moving further from the bay. "Here," said Michaela, nodding at a bench outside a haberdashery not yet open for the day.

They sat together on the narrow bench, shoulders touching. Denizens of Cape Lynette moved along on their own business, none taking note of a pair of girls sitting on a bench. For several minutes, they watched, still arm in arm, silent. A pale-skinned woman with long dark hair, a fancy hat, and two small children hurried through the crowd ahead of a porter in a humble uniform carrying a long thin box under one arm and a canvas bag on the other hand. A tall, rat-headed man in an ornate purple robe strode purposefully through the crowd, afforded a wide-berth. A man in a drab coat and a floppy hat set up an easel and canvas on the other side of the street, fiddling with tubes of paint and worn brushes.

Nearby, the clock struck ten.

Michaela started and held Anna close.

"Are you still mad at me?" Anna asked hopefully.

"You mean for interfering after I asked you not to?"

"Yeah, that."

Michaela rested her head on Anna's shoulder. "I still would have preferred you listened to me. But, I can see where you were trying to help. And, I must admit, it felt good to see you standing up for me."

Anna sighed, relieved. "But... it wasn't just... I didn't just do it for you. I... I was sent to stay with my aunt and uncle this summer because... not just because of my asthma. My... Violet doesn't know, but I'm bullied at school. It triggers my asthma, sometimes."

Michaela didn't say anything, only held Anna closer.

"I hate them," Anna said, blinking away tears. Her jaw clenched and her throat closed and she didn't think she'd be able to continue. She closed her eyes, letting a few tears slide down her cheeks and took a slow, unsteady breath, letting her jaw relax. "I never stand up to them, Michaela. I'm afraid, and it hurts. And then I lay awake at night, blaming myself, and it's like..."

"The hole in your chest," Michaela said.

Anna nodded. "I'm sorry..."

"Me too."

They sat in silence for a time, the babble of the crowd, the movement of the folk, the smell of brunch baking, all faded to the background, like distant wind high in the mountains. Somewhere in town, the clock struck the half-hour. Anna blinked as though waking up. Had they been sitting together on that bench for half an hour? As she prepared to rouse herself from the bench, she noticed the man across the street, the one in the drab coat, kept looking over his canvas at them. And when he noticed her noticing, he stood up straight. It was Ivan Agayabab, and he winked at her.

Anna gasped.

"What's wrong?" said Michaela.

"Ivan's here."

Michaela straightened and looked around. When she spotted him, she laughed. "He looks silly in those drab clothes."

Ivan gave an exaggeratedly pained expression. He tapped the top of the easel and it promptly collapsed, bounced off the cobbled street, and Ivan snagged it out of the air like a juggler. No one passing by seemed to notice. Anna wondered if it was Ivan's magic or the citizens' disinterest.

He threaded through the cross traffic of the crowd to them.

"Congratulations, ladies. I'm here to rescue you."

Anna raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's kind," said Michaela. "But..."

"Oy! Anna! Michaela!"

Max's shout was easily heard over the hubbub of the crowd. Some turned to look, but most paid as much mind to the shouting dog-headed pirate as they had the magical artist's easel.

"Oh dear, a pirate." Ivan held out is hand. "Come along, girls. I was here to pay your ransom, but it looks like now we've got a prison break with a thrilling chase."

"It's all right," Anna said. "We know him..."

Ivan shook his head and the rude, floppy hat he wore warped and shifted and sprouted a mop of blond hair. A shiver shook his coat and it fluttered into the multi-colored jacket he usually wore. People nearby took note at that, and Ivan smiled around at them.

"Nothing to see here folks, just the rescue of a pair of beautiful, innocent damsels by the Witch of Many Colors himself, Ivan Agayabab!"

There was a smattering of applause, like at a stage show.

"You leave them alone!" Max shouted over the heads of the gathered. "They're my hostages and my responsibility. They're under my protection and no witch or magician or whatever you are is going to lay a hand on them."

Anna looked at Michaela. "Is this how it felt when I stood up to that pig-headed man?"

Michaela nodded. "But this is worse. There was no theatre to what you did."

A gap opened in the crowd as Ivan and Max approached each other; Ivan all smiles and bright, fluttering coat, Max fierce and growling, hand on the butt of his blunderbuss.

"You hear that folks? This _pirate_ has taken these damsels hostage. If only there were a handsome, dashing hero to come to their rescue."

"You're no hero!" Max shouted, punctuating his shout with a bark that had the gathering crowd take a step back, some gasping. "We all know you're in league with the Witch of Puppets! You'll turn them into dolls!"

"What the hell?" Anna said.

"That's new," Michaela murmured.

"Maybe we should just go to the train station while they're distracted," Anna said.

Michaela nodded slowly, but she said, "Or we could tell them what idiots they're being."

Anna hunched uncomfortably but had to laugh. "So now you want to confront the situation and I'd rather not."

Michaela smiled. "If you don't want to, that's fine. With all the attention on the boys, I'm sure we could just edge around."

Anna nodded.

While the witch and the pirate shouted at each other about who was rescuing who from whom, Anna and Michaela threaded through the crowd. Anna chanced a glance, but she was shorter than the average person in the crowd and only caught a glimpse of the two, now less than a foot apart. Max's hackles were raised, Ivan's grin was impudent.

"Stand down, puppy dog," they heard Ivan say over the murmur of the crowd, and he tapped the end of Max's nose with one slim finger. Max's eyes went wide and watery, then he sneezed several times in a row. The crowd laughed while Max growled and backed several steps. Then they gasped as one and both girls turned to see Max draw his blunderbuss and point it at Ivan's chest. The girls stopped, stunned. Ivan put both hands up slowly.

"Easy," Ivan said.

"No. They're under my protection. Everyone here knows the PAC-Men take good care of their hostages."

Ivan grinned. "Is that so? I've heard you eat hostages who can't pay the ransom."

Dark murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"What?" Max looked around at the crowd. "No. That's not true."

Ivan took advantage of the dog-headed boy's distraction to tap his gun and in a whompf and a puff it became a bouquet of flowers. The crowd broke into applause. Ivan took a step back from Max and bowed dramatically.

Max dashed the flowers to the street and looked about to grapple with Ivan when Ivan held up a hand. "Perhaps we should ask the damsels themselves?" Without having to look, Ivan gestured at Anna and Michaela where they stood in the crowd. Immediately, the people parted, putting the girls at the center of attention.

Anna winced and looked at Michaela. "I guess we're doing it your way."

Michaela nodded. "I'll handle this." She took a step forward, standing up straight, her stride confident. "First, stop calling us damsels. Second, do not presume to speak or act on our behalf."

"You see?" Max demanded. Then he sneezed and shook his head

Michaela sighed. "That was for both of you, Max. We did not ask for your help. We're fine."

Ivan's smile faded. "But you're prisoners."

Michaela spread her arms and took another step forward. Her voice deepened, resonated, carried. It was like she was back on stage, guitar in hand, playing for her dinner. "Do I look like a prisoner to you?" She looked around at the crowd and got a few calls of encouragement. "You two were so set on your certainty, so certain two helpless little girls needed rescue, that you didn't take a moment to understand, to ask, or at the very least talk to us."

Michaela's voice carried easily over an audience enthralled. Her auburn curls shone in the sun, framing her stern expression, skin like deep bronze.

"Gentleman, the thought is appreciated, but I assure you if we need help, we'll ask. Until then, back off."

Someone in the gathered gave whoop and clapped. The sentiment caught on and blossomed through the audience. But dissent was a thorn.

"I thought we were gonna see a fight!" Someone shouted from the far side of the crowd. Several others shouted their agreement and a chant began to build, drowning out the applause.

"Fight."

"Fight!"

"FIGHT!"

Max looked, abashed. Ivan chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No," said Michaela, her voice carrying. The chant died down. "No fight today, folks."

A rumble tickled the soles of Anna's borrowed shoes. She looked around for something heavy enough to cause it. Her eye was caught by the glint of the train station roof. The faint call of a distant train whistle confirmed her assumption.

"We want a fight! We want a fight!" The chant resumed.

Michaela threw her hands in the air. She walked back to Anna.

"The train's here," said Anna.

"Looks like the police are here too," Michaela said, nodding at a pair in dark blue uniforms coming around the corner: a tall woman with dark skin, broad shoulders and tightly curled hair, and a short, slight man with a blond goatee and ponytail. "Let's go," said Michaela. She hooked her arm through Anna's and steered them toward the train station.

Anna looked over her shoulder at Max and Ivan who seemed to be working together now to assure the crowd there would be no confrontation. "What about them?"

"They're big boys," Michaela said. "Besides, they started this mess. They can explain it to the authorities."

"Fair enough," said Anna.

A bell above the door rang as they entered the train station. The interior was polished hardwood floors, brass rails, and immaculate windows. A man behind the ticket counter gave them a friendly nod.

"Will you be purchasing a ticket today?"

"No thank you," said Anna. "We've already got tickets."

He nodded again. "Be sure to present them to the conductor. And don't exit to the platform until you hear the train whistle give three short calls."

The rumble of the train increased steadily until it was a continuous drone rattling the building. Soon the great steam engine rumbled past, brakes squealing, billows of steam obscuring the platform. There was much hustle and bustle as folk entered and exited the station. When the three short whistles sounded, Anna and Michaela made their way to the platform amongst the sudden crowd. They walked down the length of the train until they found a short woman in a red uniform with a red-billed hat who looked important.

The woman smiled when she saw them and waved them forward. "Tickets?" Michaela fished the envelope from her shoulderbag and handed the tickets over. The woman gave a quick look of surprise then smoothed it over with a smile. "Where are you headed today?"

"Glenwood," said Michaela.

"Very good." The woman withdrew a small, red and gold lacquered punch and marked the tickets with a star-shaped hole. She swapped the punch for a black marker and wrote on the tickets. "You're in the car behind me, seats 7A and 7B. Have a nice trip."

The passenger car was tall with space on the bottom half for luggage and a tight staircase leading to the top. The seats were wide and well-cushioned, two on either side of a red-carpeted aisle. They found 7A and 7B. Michaela offered Anna the window seat, for which she was grateful. Anna put her shoulderbag in the space under the seat and they settled in.

Michaela sighed. "These seats are more comfortable than the bed back at the castle. I could fall asleep right here."

Anna nodded.

A few minutes later, when the car had half-filled with passengers, the train gave another short three whistles. All the hubbub of the train felt far away to Anna. She looked out the window at the folk hurrying about. Her head buzzed with the thought of going home. They'd spent nearly a week at Castle PAC, a week on this side of the fog. And who knew if they'd be able to get back once they were in Glenwood.

What if they were trapped?

Would that be a bad thing?

A faint snore told her Michaela had, indeed, fallen asleep.

The train shook and lurched and they were on their way. Anna kept her gaze out the window, but her thoughts shifted and slid, a chaotic tumble. She let them. She didn't try to reign them in, she didn't try to focus, she let them come and go as they willed, paying them little mind. The countryside passed in a blur and as the train made its way into the mountains, Anna noticed whisps of cloud clinging to their peaks. The clouds became clumps, the clumps became a haze, and in less time than Anna would have expected the haze became overcast. They wound through valleys and canyons, alongside streams and rivers, past ponds and groves.

Michaela leaned her head on Anna's shoulder. "I'm not sure I want to go back. We've been gone for days. What if... what if this time... I've been gone? And Baba didn't know where I was and I just show up. She'll be..." Anna didn't know what to say. Michaela took a deep breath "But we couldn't stay. We have no resources and Captain Tahoe wanted us to leave." She gave a shaky little sigh and a few tears soaked into the shoulder of Anna's tshirt. "Besides, it's like you said," Michaela continued. "Assuming I'm not a seventy year old ghost and you're not a dream from the future or a parallel dimension or whatever, we should be able to find each other. After all, how many Michaela Madigans live in a suburb called Glenwood. How many Viviannas... Um. What's your last name?"

"Lawrence. It's Violet's last name. When I went to live with them... She asked... I didn't want to keep the name of the person who abandoned me, so I took theirs."

"That's sweet. You're lucky. Whatever happens on this side of the fog, look for me on the other."

Anna put her arm around Michaela's shoulder and Michaela snuggled in close. She took a deep breath to forestall whatever tears might threaten to show themselves, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.

"I wish we'd been more useful to the lost prince," Anna said. "Getting captured by pirates was interesting and all, but I feel like I'm not holding up my end of the bargain."

The light grew dim as the train slid into a patch of fog.

"Look," said Michaela. "Spirit lights."

Anna looked through the window. The landscape beyond was barely discernable through the thick fog, but spirit lights zipped by, making brief streaks of soft yellow light.

"It's too cold in the mountains for fireflies," Anna said.

"Uh huh, but not where I live."

Their conversation lulled. Anna thought Michaela had fallen asleep again when the other girl said "The captain thought we were lovers."

Anna stiffened and blushed and Michaela giggled.

"I don't know about you, Vivianna Lawrence, but I think I'd like that. I think I'd like for you to kiss me. Maybe not right now, not if you're not ready. But, if you feel the way I do... some time soon? I know you're shy. I know it's a lot to ask, but I've begun to think... I think we fill the holes in each other's chest. And I'd like to keep you if I can."

Anna bit her tongue, cheeks so hot her throat closed. She tried to nod even though she knew Michaela wasn't looking at her. Maybe she could feel it.

The train slipped from the fog and into a bright sunny mountain valley of Glenwood. Anna blinked against the sunlight and looked out the window. There were no spirit lights, no trace of fog, and the brakes of the train squealed as they pulled into the station at Glenwood. 


	11. Feuding Sisters

Michaela was gone.

Anna collected her shoulderbag, stood, and got off the train, all in a daze. She walked through the empty train station. On the other side, she crossed to the post office, beyond which stood Old King, the scarecrow, only witness to her arrival. She looked at the domed, blue mailbox and thought about what Michaela had said, that she was lucky. Lucky to have Violet. To have Violet's last name.

She sat on the bench outside the post office, setting her shoulderbag beside her. She withdrew a postcard from the package Violet had given her, and an amethyst bright pen. It was early still. Too early for most of Glenwood to be awake. Too early for most shops to be open. Too early for the train's usual stop in Glenwood. But she could smell brewing coffee and baking bread. Her stomach rumbled.

_Violet,_

_I hope your summer is going well. It's quiet here. I like it._

_But I wish you were here with me. I know you have to work and that you like your job, but I miss you. I don't want you to feel bad. You've done so much for me and though I didn't know it at the time, sending me here was the right decision, so thank you._

_You'll be happy to know_

_I've made a friend_

_Michaela Madigan_

_She's not always there though_

_She might be a time traveler_

_A ghost from sixty years ago_

_Or maybe I am,_

_But I've grown fond of her_

_She fills the hole within my aching chest_

It was a far cry from iambic pentameter, but Anna addressed the card and dropped it in the mailbox before she could change her mind.

The walk down Clayfield Street was quiet. The morning was cool. When she crested the hill to Kenny and Sarah's house, Kenny was waiting for her at the door. He smiled.

"Hey there, kiddo. You had us worried."

Anna stopped and looked at her feet. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to explain why and where she'd been for the last several days.

"Sarah's on the phone with Violet. I was just about to scramble some eggs. You want to come in?"

Anna nodded and Kenny opened the door for her. Inside, Sarah was on the phone. It was an old style of phone, a big lemon yellow box mounted on the wall by the couch in the living room. It had a circular dial and a handle with a speaker on one end, a microphone on the other, and a coiled cord attaching it to the box. Anna had seen them in old movies.

"Here she is," Sarah said. She smiled at Anna and held the phone handle out to her.

Anna took it. "Hello?"

"Anna? They said you were out all night. Are you all right? Are you hurt? Did something happen?"

Anna's knees went weak with relief. She'd only been gone all night. She tried to speak, but all she could manage was a shaky breath.

"Anna? Are you there?"

Anna coughed and cleared her throat. "I'm fine. I just... I lost track of time."

"All night?"

Anna nodded. "I didn't mean to. I was just... thinking."

"Oh."

Anna thought she could hear Violet crying on the other end of the line. She cleared her throat. "I put a postcard in the mail this morning," Anna said. "I should have written you sooner, but I've been getting used to things. I wanted to tell you... to thank you for sending me here for the summer. It's been helpful."

"Oh," Violet said again. "I see. Well... please Anna, please don't do something like that again. I've been worried all night."

Anna wanted to promise, to assure Violet, but what if the fog came in and that other world grabbed hold of her again? She'd had no control of how long she'd been held at Castle PAC. She was lucky she'd only been gone a night and not nearly a week.

"I'll be careful," Anna said.

Violet cleared her throat. "I have to get ready for work. Are you going to be all right? Should I come out there?"

"I... No. I'd be happy to see you. But you don't need to come out."

Violet was quiet for a while. Anna wondered if she'd hung up.

"Okay. I'm glad you're all right. Will you call me this evening?"

Anna nodded. "Sure."

"Okay. Have a good day, Anna."

"You too."

Anna hung the phone handle on its box and turned to find Kenny and Sarah puttering about the kitchen. She could smell cooking eggs and frying bacon and steeping tea.

"I'm sorry," she said, forcing the words past the fear weighing her tongue. "I was writing mom a postcard." Anna caught herself. She couldn't remember the last time she'd called Violet her mom. "I really didn't mean to be out all night and I never want to do anything to worry you."

Kenny kept his eyes on the tomatoes he was cutting. "Don't worry about it, kiddo. It's not like you can get into any trouble in Glenwood after nine o'clock. Unless you run into ghosts. Did you see any ghosts?"

Anna thought of Michaela. "Maybe."

Kenny looked up and winked at her.

Sarah came around the counter to the living room and grabbed Anna in a big hug. Anna did not let herself cringe. Sarah's hug was tight and enveloping and it was the least she deserved for worrying them. "Oh, sweetie, we're not mad at you. We just need to know you're not hurt. Just, let us know if you're going to be out late, all right?"

Anna nodded into Sarah's embrace.

Breakfast was thoroughly plentiful. Kenny talked about how he was nearly finished with the cabinets the Goldman's had commissioned. Sarah talked about how the tomato plants were growing heavy and it was time to start canning. Anna didn't talk about anything. She let their conversation flow over her like a gently familiar rain. When breakfast was done, Anna insisted on cleaning up while Sarah and Kenny went about their mornings. It felt not unlike working in the kitchen at Castle PAC and more than once she found herself looking around for Michaela.

She bit her tongue on a sigh. It was too obvious, too morose, too much like what she'd been sent here to escape. "It's all right," she said aloud to the quiet kitchen. "The fog will come in again. The magic will work."

_But what if..._

"No."

 _But what if she really is a ghost?_ _Or from a parallel dimension? Or what if you just made her up? What if none of this is real?_

She shook her head to dislodge the thoughts that would not stop.

_What if you broke the magic by talking about it? What if Baba locks her away forever? What if the fog rolls in on her side and not yours and the Witch of Puppets gets her hands on her? What then?_

Anna set the last plate on the drying rack, hurried from the kitchen, and out the back door. There, she found Kenny, five wooden cabinets set upon sawhorses. A metal can stood open upon a nearby workbench. He dipped a sponge into the can and carefully applied the stain.

"Care to help out an old man?

"I've never done it before," said Anna.

"It's not hard," he said. "And it's easy to fix your mistakes. Come on, let me show you." He handed her a new yellow sponge and demonstrated, dipping his in the can of stain and applying it along the length of the cabinet in long, sure strokes. "The biggest thing to look out for is not letting any of it pool, or the stain will dry unevenly. Unless, of course, that's the effect you're going for, but in this case we're aiming for traditional."

The stain had a thick, deep scent that matched its dark color. The sure, meticulous nature of it soothed her thoughts. When they were done, they washed up in the little bathroom just off the back door.

"They'll take some time to dry," Kenny said. "But if you're looking for more to do, Sarah's in the garden."

The garden was on the front side of the house, where Anna found Sarah sitting on a stool, picking tomatoes.

"Pull up a stool," Sarah invited.

Anna picked up a short, three-legged stool and made her way between plants so she could sit next to Sarah.

"A steady grip, but not firm, is best," Sarah said. "At least, that's always worked for me. If you give it a small twist, that helps break it from the vine."

Anna didn't know how long she spent methodically picking tomatoes. She didn't know how long she'd spent staining cabinets with Kenny. But by the time they carried several baskets of tomatoes into the kitchen, it was noon and she was hungry.

"That was nice," Anna said. "It distracted me from..." A part of her wanted to tell them about the fog, the other Glenwood, and Michaela, but there was no way they'd believe her. "Things."

Sarah nodded. "Sometimes it's the silence between moments that's most important. If you're always on task, it can be difficult to make any meaningful progress. You cannot always be focused on the conflict or you'll lose sight of why it mattered to begin with. Staining cabinets or picking tomatoes or going for a long meander all night, it helps declutter thoughts."

Lunch was fresh tomatoes, soft cheese, and generous cuts of summer sausage. Kenny brought in a large glass jar he assured them wasn't wood stain, but tea he'd been brewing in the sun all morning. They passed a quiet lunch and Anna felt herself growing sleepy. She remembered her morning had started several hours before she'd arrived at Kenny and Sarah's front door.

"I think I'm going to take a nap," Anna said.

With the balcony door open wide and the bedroom door open a crack, a bit of summer breeze zephyred through the room. Anna took a quick shower to sluice off the sweat, then lay in bed on her back. Between the work calming her thoughts and the food filling her belly and the water cooling on her skin, she drifted to sleep.

When she woke, she immediately felt for Michaela at her left before remembering she was no longer at Castle PAC. Tears leapt at her eyes, but she took a breath and stifled them, trying to remember what Sarah had said about the silence between moments. She felt the familiar ache that heralded the hole in her chest. She crept down to the kitchen where the oven told her was eleven-thirty. She poured herself a drink of water and tried to talk herself out of despair.

"Tomorrow morning you'll ask them about internet access. You will find Michaela Madigan in a suburb called Glenwood. How many could there be?"

But when morning came and she asked over breakfast, Sarah made a disgruntled sound.

"There's roadwork down valley, and someone hit the fiber optic line. Or something like that. Internet is down valley wide. They're working to restore it, but for now internet access in the valley is spotty at best."

"I wasn't able to get my owls up on the pinpage," Kenny said. "Cell towers still work, you can call and text, but trying to access a web app is so slow it's barely worth it. It's almost as bad as dialup."

"I didn't bring my phone," Anna said. "I was trying to disconnect for a while, but there's some research I want to do."

"The library's got plenty of computers," Sarah said. "But they've said it'll be late summer at the earliest before we have regular internet access again."

Anna made her way to the library that morning and though she was immediately afforded use of a computer, Kenny and Sarah hadn't exaggerated the difficulty of using the internet. Pages were slow if they loaded at all and regular social media platforms were missing many of their functions. And that's when access didn't shut off all together. Anna made due the best she could. She found several people named Michaela Madigan, but none were the one she was looking for. She wondered if Michaela had an online presence. Was she allowed a social media account? Was she allowed on the internet? Did she even know what the internet was?

Anna realized they should have exchanged detailed information, and the next time the internet went down, she gave up her computer and took out a notebook and pen, writing down her full name: Vivianna Lawrence; her foster parents' names: Violet Ayn and Arthur Kent Lawrence. She wrote down her birthday and her parents' birthdays. She wrote down the date Arthur had died. She explained she had no information on her birth parents. She wrote down her address and cell number, Kenny and Sarah's address. She didn't know Kenny and Sarah's phone numbers but resolved to ask. She wrote down everything she could think of to help Michaela find her in this world.

**• • •**

When she had nothing to do, the hole in her chest threatened to return, so she helped Kenny pick out handles for the cabinets and accompanied him to the lumber yard. She learned the basics of canning from Sarah and helped choose fabric for a new quilt. She spent as much time as she could in the library trying to find a hint of the Michaela she knew. But when she had nothing to occupy her, she could think of nothing but Michaela and her chest would clench.

**• • •**

"Are we expecting guests?" Kenny asked.

They were all at lunch after a long morning in the garden. Vegetables had been chopped and stewed and pickled and canned and there was plenty more yet to do.

Sarah shrugged. "Not that I'm aware of, but there's always room for more." Her smile as gentle as her chuckle, she made for the front door. A few minutes later, "Anna, it's for you."

Perplexed, Anna went to the front door to find Frank with a shy smile and a hopeful look. "Hey, Anna. I wanted to invite you down to the hot springs."

Anna knew her expression must be plainly shocked. She hadn't been invited to anything for several years and she knew Frank thought she was odd.

"You see, it's my birthday today and one of the benefits of a summer birthday is I always get the day off, and the hot springs are great any time of year. We're all getting together in half an hour or so, do you want to come?"

"Sure," said Anna, before she could think better of it. She'd brought a bathing suit in anticipation of the hot springs, she just hadn't expected to be invited.

"Great," said Frank. "We can walk down together."

"I didn't get you anything," Anna said and cringed at her own bluntness.

"Oh, that's fine," Frank said. "Just you coming will be nice."

Anna felt certain that wasn't true and she gave Frank a skeptical look. He blushed and looked away.

"Why don't you come in and wait," Anna said. "I'll go get my things."

She walked back to the kitchen and felt Frank follow her.

"Do you guys care if I go to the hot springs?" Anna asked, gesturing at Frank who waved awkwardly.

"That's fine," said Sarah, "Just let us know if you're going to be out late."

Anna hurried upstairs, put on her swimsuit, and put on a t-shirt and shorts over it. She borrowed a couple of towels from the bathroom, slipped on her borrowed shoes and went back downstairs.

Anna wasn't terribly interested in birthday parties or parties in general, but it was nice to be invited and it might provide a good distraction. Frank and Anna walked down the hill together into Glenwood. Anna wasn't especially good at small talk, but Frank talked enough for the both of them. He talked about everybody who would be there: Bertie and Olivia and Charlotte and so on, and how great the hot springs were, he talked about how he and Bertie were supposed to be the class presidents for eighth grade next year, that there'd been an election and everything, but he wasn't entirely certain he wanted the job. Already there'd been three separate school activities during summer break he'd been expected to attend. He talked about a new mountain bike he was excited to try out on the trails. And a camping trip he was planning. And how his batting average this summer was way better than last summer.

Anna didn't deliberately ignore his chatter, but she only came in and out of the thread.

They crossed the Okagawa River onto Clayfield Street proper, down a couple of blocks, then took a right toward the river. There was a large hotel before the pool. The woman at the front desk waved them in.

"Hiya Frankie. Your guests are starting to arrive. I thought you were going to miss your own party."

Frank laughed easily. "Just wanted to invite the new girl. I don't have her number yet."

"Wouldn't do you any good," said Anna. "I left my phone at home."

To the right of the main lobby of the hotel was a bar and grill open for lunch. To the left was the hot springs entry and a sign pointing to the locker rooms. Frank escorted her to the front desk where the woman stamped the back of her hand.

"If you need extra towels, there's clean ones on the carts near the locker rooms. You guys are set for the day. Have fun, kids."

"See you on the other side, Anna." Frank hurried off to the men's locker room.

Anna decided it was easier to keep her clothes with her as she had her swimsuit on underneath, so she bypassed the locker room and went straight out to the pool. The space beyond the Glenwood Hotel was expansive. A map showed the all-ages swimming pool, complete with water slide, to the right. The heated pool for soaking was right in front of her. To the left was a set of small, secluded pools at temperatures in the high nineties. The sign specifically asked for no unaccompanied minors and low voices.

Anna was tempted to go to the left. The idea of soaking in hot water, even on such a summer day, sounded wonderful and should be good for her asthma. Though she hadn't had an attack, she realized, since coming to Glenwood. She wondered why. The altitude perhaps? The lack of pollution? But she'd come at Frank's invitation, so she decided to wait for him.

At the bottom of the map was a bronze plaque declaring, in worn letters: In Loving Memory of Oscar Clayfield.

Anna paused. It was the wrong last name, but it was the first prominent use of the name Oscar she'd seen since hearing of Oscar Agayabab's disappearance on the other side of the fog.

"Certainly there's no connection," she muttered.

"Anna?" Bertie sounded surprised and Anna turned to face her. "I didn't know you'd be here.

"Frank invited me," Anna said and immediately regretted it. Bertie pursed her lips angrily. "Look, Bertie, you should know, I'm not interested in Frank. I mean, not like that anyway. I'm sure he's very nice, but..." she thought of Michaela and cleared her throat. "I'm just here for the summer. I'm not interested in getting between whatever the two of you..."

Bertie blushed. "We don't have anything going on. He's not my boyfriend, Anna."

"Oh." Anna had been certain that was why Bertie gave her a dirty look whenever Frank came up. "I... My mistake. Sorry."

"Anyway, I'm glad Frank invited you. You're the most interesting person to come to town in a long time."

Anna didn't know what to make of that. She looked away and her eyes lit upon the plaque. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

Bertie shrugged.

"You're supposed to be president of Glenwood Middle School next year. I don't suppose that means you know a lot about local history?"

Bertie smiled. "As a matter of fact I do. What do you want to know?"

Anna pointed at the plaque. "Who's Oscar Clayfield?"

Bertie's expression turned serious. "He went missing when he was only 9 years old. This was around sixty, maybe sixty-five years ago."

"And he was descended from that guy who founded the town?"

Bertie nodded. "Ali Clayfield's great great grandson. His mother, Catherine Sabina Clayfield was a prominent city council member and owned the hot springs here. She was always feuding with one of her second cousins, Aileen Clayfield. Aileen owned a bunch of vineyards down valley. Each of them thought they had a right to the other's land. The Old King has a lot of family still in the region and for a while there were fights about who in the family had rights to which of his properties."

"Huh, like when the real life kings of ancient times died and hereditary rule was disputed," Anna said.

"Precisely. These days, the municipality of Glenwood has bought most of it and considered the land once owned by Clayfield to be the trust of the people. Public land is for the public and all that."

Anna nodded. It was interesting, but didn't help with the dilemma on the other side of the fog.

"Still, it's a shame about Catherine Clayfield," Bertie said.

"Why's that?"

Bertie blushed. "Oh, you don't want to hear about small town history. This stuff is boring to anybody but me."

"I really do," said Anna. "I find this kind of thing fascinating."

"Oh. Well, all right then. Catherine had two sons. Ivan and Oscar. Ivan was born out of wedlock and Catherine never told anybody who his father was. Then she married and went from being a Westcote to a Clayfield. Thing is, the Westcotes and Clayfields are related. Catherine and James were second cousins. Which is probably the only reason she never became mayor of Glenwood. But all the research I've done says she was a phenomenal council member, good with keeping the town on budget."

"What happened to Oscar?"

Bertie shrugged. "No one knows. Some assume he fell in the river or got lost out in the woods. Some think Aileen Clayfield had something to do with it, since they were always feuding. Catherine certainly believed so. And when Aileen got herself elected to the council, that was the beginning of the end for Catherine. There were a lot of public shouting matches and three fistfights according to police record. Then Catherine just disappeared from public life."

"What was her middle name again?" Anna asked.

"Sabina. Why?"

"It's just interesting. What about Aileen? Did she have an interesting middle name?"

"Yeah. It was Yulanna. Her mother's name I think. Another interesting tidbit about the two of them, they were born on the same day: ninth day of the first month in 1919. Twins after a fashion."

"Hey, you guys, come on." Frank shouted from the pool.

Bertie smiled at Frank. "Let me know if you have any more questions. I'm always happy to talk about the history of Glenwood. I plan to be mayor one day."

That made Anna smile. "Cool."

Anna found an out of the way pool chair. She took off her shirt, shorts, and shoes, folding the clothes and setting them neatly upon her towels, and tucked her shoes underneath. She'd gotten used to changing in front of Michaela, but she blushed to undress at the poolside, even though she had her swimsuit on underneath. She tried to swallow her embarrassment, pretend it wasn't there, and went to the pool. Her black one-piece with its high neck and low hips was modest compared to the colorful swimwear of her peers.

The invitees to Frank's birthday ranged in age. Anna wondered if being such a small town meant everyone was invited or maybe just everyone showed up. Or perhaps that was the result of a birthday party at a pool in the summer.

She kept close to the edges, not wanting to get involved in the raucous games. Frank and his buddies seemed fond of dunking each other, wrestling about, and splashing like children. After a while, when no one was paying attention to her, she moved from the swimming pool to the heated pool, where voices were lower and no one was splashing. People sat quietly. Steam rose off the water surface. Anna found a bench along the wall and sat, the water coming up to her chin.

She wondered about the peculiar parallels of Glenwood's history on this side of the fog to that side. Catherine and Aileen Clayfield, cousins born on the same day. It wasn't the same as a pair of feuding sister witches, but it was close. The middle names of Catherine and Aileen as the first names of the Agayabab sisters, was too similar to ignore. Did Oscar Clayfield's disappearance on this side of the fog sixty-some years ago give her any insight into the disappearance of Oscar Agayabab on the other side?

Perhaps it was as Ivan had put it. They were different books on the same shelf. Parallel stories perhaps. Anna roused from her reverie as someone sat next to her. It was Frank.

"You all right?" he asked.

Anna nodded.

"It's just, you're not hanging out with the rest of us."

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just... shy. And quiet. I don't really fit in with exuberant crowds."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's fine. I'm glad you invited me and I'm glad to be here. I just... I'll enjoy the party from a safe distance."

"Safe?" His expression turned confused, like a puppy certain there was a tennis ball a moment ago.

Anna smiled. "I'm teasing. I just mean I hope you'll be patient with my shyness."

He shrugged. "Sure. But don't be too shy or you'll miss out on pizza and cake."

Anna's stomach burbled. "Don't want to miss out on pizza and cake."

"Okay. Thanks for coming."

About ten minutes later, Frank made an all call and most of the young people at the Glenwood hot springs converged on a pavilion at the far end of the grounds where stood two stacks of pizza boxes, a varicolored multitude of liters of sodas, and no fewer than three birthday cakes. A pair of adults Anna assumed to be Frank's parents, herded them into a couple lines. Anna got herself two slices of pizza, a cup of orange soda, and a bit of cake. She stood toward the back as Frank was serenaded in the traditional songs and watched him open a few presents.

With everyone focused on Frank, Anna collected her clothes, got dressed, and slipped away. It was approaching evening, she realized as she walked down Clayfield Street toward the bridge over the Okagawa, and she hadn't once felt the ache in her chest. She hadn't missed Michaela.


End file.
